


And Then an Owl Flew into the Kitchen

by ConstantCommentTea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Dudley Dursley Has a Magical Child, Dudley Getting Over Magical Bigotry, Dudley's World Comes Crashing Down, Future, Gen, H/Hr is just there fyi, Harry Potter and Dudley Dursley Friendship, I do love H/Hr though, No explicit shipping because this is about family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCommentTea/pseuds/ConstantCommentTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It came one sunny Saturday morning, the air still cool and damp from an overnight thunderstorm. The birds outside chirped merrily—at least, the ones whose beaks weren't full of big, juicy worms. Or mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating:** For some language.
> 
>  **Pairing:** Dudley/Harry friendship, and… a little bit of H/Hr. Please see the author’s note before flouncing.
> 
>  **Author’s Notes:** On the H/Hr pairing: This story was written originally for my own enjoyment. Inspired to write for the HP world after watching the last movie, I decided to put down a few ideas I had about a Dudley/Harry friendship story that has been brewing ever since the fifth book came out. I have always been convinced that Harry and Hermione needed to end up together (which I actually wrote an essay about once, so imagine how vindicated I feel after JKR's revelation about the pairing), so in this story Harry is married to Hermione rather than Ginny. I thought about changing it to make it canon, but I was convinced by some very wise people to preserve the integrity of the piece and keep it the way I love it. If you have a problem with that…well, if you can tell me respectfully, that’s fine. Otherwise, let it go. It’s a story. It will not ruin your life, I promise.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley loved their grandchildren.

They visited often—but not too often: Dudders needed time alone with his family, of course—and they always brought presents. Or money. Or both. Mortimer was going to Smelting’s soon, and much of the extra funds needed for this expensive private school were to be provided happily by Vernon and Petunia. They were already looking into upstanding girl’s private schools to send May to when she was old enough. She was only six now, but it was never too early to start saving.

Vernon thought that Mortimer might be involved in politics, while May would make an excellent secretary for a CEO somewhere in London. Petunia didn’t particularly care what the grandkids might become as adults because she knew they were being raised right and would choose something sensible. They decided when Mortimer was born to leave the house on Privet Drive in all of the grandkids’ names, so that at least one of them would be guaranteed a nice suburban home to move into when they wanted to settle down.

They had it all planned out, and they were very happy. Just like Dudley was.

None of them gave a thought to magical world; not since they’d been released from their protective captivity with a very strange witch who compulsively peeked out through the curtains of their well-hidden house and a tiny excitable wizard who, when he wasn’t snoring, talked in his sleep about grindylows wearing Father Christmas hats. Dudley would remember Harry and his kind occasionally, as one might remember an unpleasant childhood memory, but that was all.

Until, of course, one day when he was forced to give Harry quite a _considerable_ amount of thought.

Dudley was walking briskly to his car one evening just after getting off work, eager to return home after a hard day behind the desk playing Solitaire (his best score was currently 10,639, including the time bonus), when he found himself stuck behind two slow-moving women bent over something between them and whispering excitedly. He was about to step off the curb briefly to dodge around them when he heard his cousin’s name for the first time in 15 years.

“Absolutely _sensational!_ Honestly, I don’t know who to side with…Harry Potter’s _really_ done it this time…”

Dudley stopped dead for a moment. Then he shook himself and hurried to catch up to the ladies.

“Excuse me,” he said, and they turned in surprise. His usual reserve about approaching strangers and admitting to overhearing them was completely consumed in his sudden and inexplicable need to know. “Did you just say, ‘Harry Potter’?”

The women narrowed their eyes at him. “Yes…” one of them said cautiously.

“Well…” Dudley faltered. “Sorry, but… _what_ exactly were you saying about him?” He winced. His mother would be appalled at his behavior. He glanced down nervously and saw something in one woman’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked, and the woman held it up as if she herself had forgotten what she was carrying.

It was a book. And on the front cover was…

“Harry!” Dudley cried, and the women jumped. He took the book from the lady’s hand, causing a yell of shock that he didn’t hear. He stared intently at the cover. It was unmistakable. Harry looked much older, of course, but that was definitely his cousin waving at him. Dudley looked up and a sudden, unprecedented impulse came over him. “I want to buy this from you,” he said.

The women gaped at him.

Dudley dug into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of bills. He gave them two 20’s without thinking about it and said, “you can exchange this for your money, right?”

Perhaps just eager to be rid of this crazy Muggle, the two women nodded, their mouths still agape.

“Thanks,” Dudley said, and he turned and ran to his car, leaving the women behind, still blocking the sidewalk from other tired home-goers.

~~*~~

The book was titled, _Two Wands, One Feather: An account of Tom M. Riddle and the Boy Who Shared His Soul_ ; it was written by the award-winning author Susan Bones and overseen by Harry Potter himself.

Despite his instinctual trepidation, that night after the kids had gone to bed and his wife was still cleaning up, Dudley had sat down and torn through the first several chapters in one sitting.

The book described the birth and complete life (as far as it could be complete) of Tom Riddle and recounted all of Harry’s adventures at school that were pertinent to the complex and intertwined relationship between the two men. The book largely skipped over the 10 years of Harry’s life at the Dursley’s before he became a Hogwarts student, with only a brief mention of being raised by Muggles, which Dudley felt a bit slighted by (though later he realized that he might not _want_ to be mentioned, considering their not-so-great relationship growing up). But why Harry had decided to write such a book was beyond Dudley. He didn’t know who Tom Riddle was, but if he was half as famous as Harry, shouldn’t their kind know all this stuff already? What made it so “sensational”?

And perhaps most intriguingly: why was Dudley so fascinated with it? The book was dark and terrifying, filling in holes in Dudley’s knowledge of the magical world that he would much rather have been left empty.

Dudley had been absolutely horrified to learn that Tom M. Riddle was an evil tried-to-take-over-the-world-by-mass-murder villain; the very same man who had murdered his own aunt and uncle. Not that Dudley knew or liked his aunt and uncle, but they were blood family (and also, Tom Riddle was apparently the reason that Dudley had to grow up with such a strange and terrifying cousin as Harry Potter in the house). But it was mostly because he’d actually felt empathy and an odd sense of camaraderie (and yes, support) for the man before he disappeared from Britain to learn the Dark Arts, that _really_ made him feel horrified. This man was a human before he was a monster, and Susan Bones and Harry Potter made him feel sorry for the guy. Dudley shuddered. He didn’t like to feel such unpleasant things.

Glancing at the clock for the first time in hours, Dudley realized that it was well after midnight. Half-wondering why his wife hadn’t asked him to come to bed, he closed the book and hid it in his tiny office so that his family wouldn’t find it, and went to bed troubled for the first time in many years.


	2. Chapter Two

  


Dudley considered his relationship with his mother to be quite good—better than most, in fact. She loved him, doted on him, supported him…nagged him occasionally, but what mother didn’t? She was the first person he told when Beth had accepted his proposal.

So why had it only just occurred to Dudley that he and his mother had something very important in common—something that in any other family might be worth mentioning or talking about…why had he never asked his mother how _she_ dealt living with a… _magical_ …relative?

Of course, that sort of thing wasn’t talked about under Vernon Dursley’s roof. But might it have been talked about under Petunia’s? Dudley rather doubted it, but he suddenly wished he knew for sure.

He wouldn’t ask, of course.

He wouldn’t.

“Oh, Vernon! Look how tall they are!” Petunia had barely gotten through the front door and Vernon had to edge around Petunia, who was fawning over May, to measure Mortimer against his tall chest.

“He’s shooting up, Dudley!” Vernon announced proudly. “He’ll overtake you soon, I’ll bet! How did you do in that Science Fair, my boy?”

“First place!” Mortimer announced happily, and pulled a blue ribbon out from behind his back. Vernon and Petunia gasped in delight and each pulled him into a big hug.

“Of course you did!” Vernon boomed jovially. “I think that deserves a little extra something, don’t you, Nana?”

Petunia enthusiastically agreed as Vernon pulled out his wallet and handed Mortimer a 20-pound note.

“Thank you, Nana and Grandpa,” Mortimer said almost in recitation—it was common practice for the kids to bring out their achievements when Vernon and Petunia visited, in hopes of getting something “extra.”

“Let’s go into the living room, eh?” Vernon said. “There may be something else in store for you kids…if there’s enough room…” He winked, and the children squealed in delight, leading the way to the living room.

“Where’s Beth, darling?” Petunia asked Dudley as he was finally able to shut the door. “I want to show her the article I wrote for the Gardening Club newsletter…”

“In the kitchen, I think, Mum,” Dudley replied, and Petunia turned to find Dudley’s wife. “Oh, Mum…”

Petunia stopped and looked at Dudley. Dudley swallowed. He glanced in the direction of his office door, just off the foyer that they stood in.

“N-nothing,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

Petunia smiled and kissed him on the cheek, and then went into the kitchen.

~~*~~

It didn’t occur to Dudley until nearly halfway through Harry’s book to read the foreword that Harry had written; it being one of those things he counted as superfluous as the several blank pages publishers often stuck in at the end of books (what were those there for, anyway? Doodling paper? Dudley thought probably not, since he’d gotten in trouble at school for doing just that…). But questions kept resurfacing—such as _Why write this? Why now? What is a Quaffle?_ And perhaps most importantly, though least likely to be addressed directly, _Why do I care?—_ as he read through Harry’s early school years, and he finally realized that the purpose of those bits at the beginning of books might be to clarify certain things to the readers. Dudley took the chance and flipped to the foreword. It read,

_I know you may not want to hear this._

_I also know that a lot of you need to hear this._

_Not long after my second child was born, Ron, Hermione and I realized the importance of putting our memories into written form, not only for our children’s sake, but for yours as well. This book is the product of seven years of hard work, and it will be published just in time for our oldest child to be starting at Hogwarts; and hopefully just in time to stop a barrage of questions on him that he can’t answer._

_This is the story of the man who became Lord Voldemort, the prophecy of his downfall, and how I came to fulfill it (hint: with a lot of help). Voldemort’s reign should never happen again. Our children need to understand the suffering we went through; the losses we still grieve._

_This book was not written to condemn anyone, and real names have only been used with permission. It is written as an answer to 15 years of unsatisfactory interview questions; it is written in hopes that some of you will finally understand._

_This book is the truth. Susan Bones and I are not the only authors. Where multiple accounts of the same event could be acquired, Susan listened and wrote word-for-word hundreds of hours of interviews with dozens upon dozens of people, many of whom (myself included) supplied her with complete bottled memories to view and scrutinize in a pensieve. Susan then took the most common elements of all accounts and used them to craft this book. As for the moments in this volume that occurred when I was alone or with someone who is now deceased…well, you’ll just have to trust me._

_I dedicate this work to the late Severus Snape, whose courage to reveal the most painful things in his life for the advantage of all inspired me to do the same._

_Harry Potter_

_May, 2013_

Dudley swallowed uncomfortably. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to know what happened anymore, but he was already too far along to stop.

Dudley read the book every evening, which his wife Beth, of course, eventually noticed. After a brief confrontation, in which Dudley refused to let Beth see the cover because of the moving picture, but relented in letting her read a few sentences to prove that he was not reading erotica, he managed to convince her that it was a guilty pleasure fantasy novel, and she let the matter drop. Dudley was much more careful about when and where he read the book after that.

It took him an additional week and a half of surreptitious readings to finish the 400-odd-page text, no less than a third of which was read through teary eyes. Why would that be?

It was a few days later, after he’d had time to process (helped by more Solitaire games at work than usual), that Dudley decided that he needed to contact his cousin. He wasn’t sure why—he’d hadn’t processed _that_ far yet—he just knew that it was something he had to do.

After dinner one evening, Dudley helped his wife with the dishes, and his son with his history homework, and his daughter with her color- and pattern-matching worksheets, and then locked himself in his study to draft a letter to Harry. Three hours and many pieces of paper later, he had a very short and unsatisfactory note in hand that he could not think how to improve upon, but felt that it nevertheless said what it needed to say, and thus it was ready for sending. It said,

 _Dear Harry,_  
_It’s been a long time. How are you? I read your book. It would be nice to see you._

_Dudley_

Susan Bones he was not. Nevertheless, Dudley put it in an envelope, wrote Harry’s name on the front, and then paused. It hadn’t occurred to him that he didn’t have Harry’s address. He frowned and pulled out the book, flicking through the front and back pages to see if there was any more important information hiding there. On the back dust jacket flap, there was a picture of Harry and his wife, Hermione, and a brief blurb about them, including the fact that they lived in the wizarding community of Godric’s Hollow. Dudley felt a brief sense of triumph until he realized that he still didn’t have a street address for them. He doubted that the post office would accept just the name of the town Harry lived in, nor was he entirely sure the normal post system even went to Godric’s Hollow.

Dudley thought some more.

And then it hit him: of course, he must use an owl. He’d seen enough letters delivered by owl for Harry and the wizarding couple that the Dursleys had lived with during the war for Dudley to know that must be a normal mode of post transportation for Harry’s kind. It was at this point that he also remembered the way in which Harry’s first Hogwarts letters had been addressed. Though Dudley didn’t know where Harry slept these days (he assumed a normal bed), he figured that simply writing “Godric’s Hollow” under Harry’s name should suffice. Doing so, he sat back with a sigh of satisfaction.

Then something else occurred to Dudley: how was he going to get an owl? He supposed he could order one online, but he was pretty sure that exotic pets like owls were expensive. He could try walking out into the woods and calling for a wild one, but the Dursleys lived in a tightly-packed neighborhood and there were no woods nearby.

Dudley thought a bit longer, which was difficult because he was tired. What did he know about owls?

Well, he knew that Harry used to have a snowy owl, but it was summer and probably not the time of year for snowy owls. He knew that there were barn owls, which probably lived in barns, but the Dursleys did not have a barn… Dudley rapped his fingers on the desk. He supposed he could drive out into the country and sneak into a farmer’s barn to look for barn owls. It would be risky… But Harry had done risky things for stuff that was important. And Dudley was no coward himself. He nodded decisively.

After work tomorrow, Dudley would make a wide detour out into the country in search of barns and their owlish inhabitants. Satisfied, he went to bed.

~~*~~

It took Dudley a while to find a proper barn. The farms were spread far apart, and not all of them had the kind of barn that Dudley expected to find an owl in. Oftentimes, if he did find a suitable barn, the farm was too busy with people working for him to be able to successfully sneak in. Eventually, though, he found one.

It was old and run-down, but seemingly still in use. Dudley could see no car in the long driveway, nor movement in the house. He parked his car a little ways down the road and doubled back on foot, strolling as casually as he could until it was time to dash across the lawn for the wooden door in the side of the barn.

Dudley eased the door closed behind him and peered cautiously around. A few horses stood in stalls, quietly munching on hay, but otherwise nothing stirred. He stepped into the middle of the barn and looked up to the rafters. He couldn’t see any owls.

He cleared his throat. “Erm, excuse me?”

Some of the horses looked at him.

“Er…owls? Excuse me, owls? I need someone to deliver a…a letter for me? Please?”

Silence.

Dudley sighed. He turned around on the spot, craning to see into the darkest parts of the rafters. “It’s just a little note…” he said.

Still nothing. He decided to try and find a different barn.

But then, there was a rustle. Dudley looked up hopefully. A tiny brown owl peered its head out over the edge of the loft, looking at him curiously. Dudley’s face brightened. “Oh, please,” he said, holding the letter up to it. “Please, this note needs to go to Harry Potter. He lives in Godric’s Hollow, but I’m so sorry, I don’t know where he sleeps. I hope this will be enough to go on…”

The bird stared at him, and Dudley suddenly wondered if wild owls knew how to deliver mail; was it only the domesticated, properly-trained ones?

The owl let out a tiny hoot, spread its wings, and dived at Dudley. He squealed and ducked, his hand still outstretched in frozen terror. In a second, the note was gone from his fingers, and Dudley glanced up just in time to see the owl swoop up and out of the open loft window.

He gulped, hoping that the bird would actually deliver the note, rather than find with disappointment that Dudley had not brought the owl a tasty mouse treat and drop it in the farmer’s field. He decided to wait a week, and then try again. Dudley snuck out of the barn without being seen and hurried home to a late supper.

 


	3. Chapter Three

Dudley was very grateful for two things. First, that Harry responded to his note in less than a week and Dudley was spared from figuring out another way to procure an owl. Second, that it was delivered while Dudley was outside mowing the lawn, where the rest of the family would not see a bright white owl dropping a yellowed envelope on Dudley’s head (where it bounced off and almost was chewed up by the mower blades; Dudley stepped on it just in time from being sucked in). He turned the mower off, too eager to read Harry’s reply (in letters too perfect not to have been written and rewritten as many times as Dudley’s original note had been).

 _Dear Dudley,  
_ _What a surprise to hear from you! How did you get a copy of my book? And how did you get an owl to deliver your note?_

_It would be nice to see you, too. Give me a ring sometime at the number below (we’ve had our house hooked up to a telephone line so Hermione’s side of the family can reach us)._

_Hope you’re doing well,  
_ _Harry_

Dudley looked up from the note and grinned slightly, though he wasn’t sure why. Then he stuffed it in his pocket, restarted the mower, and finished mowing the lawn.

~~*~~

It was with a very nervous hand that Dudley held his cell phone in front of him that night, and an even more nervous thumb that prepared to dial the numbers from the paper held in his other nervous hand. He took a deep breath. The last time Dudley had seen Harry, it had been an awkward moment of goodbye, and only later did Dudley realize that it might have been the last time they’d ever see each other. He’d felt a strange and unwelcome twinge of regret—the same kind as when you outgrew a pair of pants; not sorrow, but a sense of loss all the same.

Dudley had been forced to think about Harry quite a lot when he was living with that witch and wizard all year, so when the war was over Dudley and the rest of his family made a point to forget as much of it as possible, as if forgetting would cleanse them of any risk of becoming like _them_ through osmosis. All three Dursleys felt that it worked and, with Harry out of their lives forever, were once again as purely and proudly normal as it was possible to be—more so then they ever had been in 17 years. No one mentioned Harry, and all trace of him in the house (which was very little) was burned and then thrown away. In the normal world, Harry Potter did not exist.

So why was Dudley now voluntarily reversing that careful process of obliteration?

He swallowed and glanced at Harry’s book sitting in the desk in front of him. Harry gave him a brief but mostly friendly nod and a small smile. Dudley set his phone down and opened up to Harry’s foreword again, letting his eyes graze over it until he’d gathered enough courage. Then he picked up his phone, dialed the numbers, and pressed send before he could change his mind.

It rang three times.

“Hello?” said Harry’s voice on the other end.

Dudley quickly cleared his throat and said, “H-Harry. Hi…it’s Dudley.”

There was a brief silence, except for the background on Harry’s end, in which Dudley could hear laughing children and banging pots. “Dudley…Hold on.” And Dudley waited until Harry moved someplace quieter. “So…” Harry said. “Big D. How are you?”

Dudley started slightly. No one had called him Big D since he was a teenager. “Good,” he said. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Silence.

“So,” Harry finally said. “How did you get a copy of the book?”

“I bought it,” Dudley replied. “Two women walking in front of me—your lot, I guess—were talking about it. I saw the cover and bought it from them.” Dudley could almost hear Harry’s surprised expression.

“And you…you read it?” Harry asked.

“Yup,” Dudley replied. “Even the foreword.”

“Oh. Well, I’m kind of flattered, Big D. You never read books.”

“I know,” Dudley replied. “But it was…Well, I guess I didn’t know you did all that at school.”

“Didn’t think your parents would like hearing about it…” Harry said. “Or you, really.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Dudley said.

There was a pause. “So what changed?”

Dudley shrugged, even though Harry couldn’t see it. “I don’t know.”

There was silence again for a bit. “So, no offense, Dudley, but…why did you owl me?”

Dudley hesitated, and then out of his mouth came the most reckless and spur-of-the-moment answer he’d ever given to anyone: “I wanted to know if you and your family want to come to dinner.” He almost dropped the phone in his own shock. He thought that Harry might have, too, because there was a shuffling sound on the other end of the phone.

“Erm…” Harry said after a moment, and Dudley began to fear that Harry might say no. And then he wondered why on earth he might be afraid of _that_. “Sure, Big D. We’d love that. When?”

“How’s Friday?” Dudley’s mouth said. “At 6:30.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said. “Where do you live?”

“Number 25, Goldsparrow Drive. R------.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “You’re not that far from us. Godric’s Hollow’s about a 30-minute drive. I think…I haven’t really driven around that much…”

“Oh,” Dudley said. How strange that with the whole country available to spread out in, they would end up so near each other. Dudley’s parents would not be amused. Not that they were going to hear about this. At all. “Well, that’s good,” Dudley said. “I’m glad it’s not too far for you to go…”

“We’re wizards, Dudley,” Harry said. “Nothing’s too far.”

“Oh, right…” Dudley said weakly, a bit jarred by Harry’s use of the word “wizard.” He had quite forgotten that for the rest of the world, it was not a disgusting swearword. “Well,” he said, gathering himself together. “I guess we’ll see you Friday, then.”

“Yeah…Oh, Dudley?”

“Mmm?”

A brief pause. “How _did_ you get that owl to deliver your letter?”

“I found it in a barn in the country,” Dudley said. “I figured that’s where barn owls live.”

“Oh…That was very clever of you, Dudley.”

Dudley gave a small smile. “Thanks, Harry.”

There was another pause, then they said goodbye and hung up. After a moment of processing, Dudley stood up to go tell his wife that he invited some long-lost family members to dinner in a few nights. He was reasonably sure she’d take it well.

~~*~~

Dudley waited for the Potters’ arrival with all the antsy impatience of a teenager preparing for his first date. What should he wear? What would they talk about? What if it went horribly wrong?

And then the more terrifying questions started to pop up, just about an hour before their arrival. Would they arrive by their means or normal means? Would they know not to say anything about their…lifestyle…to the rest of his family? What if one of Harry’s kids let something slip? What would his family think if they found out what Dudley was related to?

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The last half hour was torturous for Dudley because he suddenly remembered the Aunt Marge Incident, and his heart pounded at the thought of having put his wife and kids in such danger as to bring _that kind_ of children into the house (whom Dudley could only assume would be likewise as out of control of their own abilities as Harry had been that night). And with who-knew-how-many children would be coming (Dudley had quite forgotten to ask exactly how many Potters kids there were), so many more times was the danger. He sweated nervously under his polo shirt and compulsively applied anti-perspirant every few minutes until finally his wife stopped her preparations and took Dudley gently by the shoulders.

“Dear, calm down,” she said, piercing him with the bright blue eyes he’d instantly fallen in love with. “It’s going to be _lovely_. Your family has always been wonderful, and I’m sure the Potters are no different.” Dudley’s throat squeaked. “You are so brave to make the first contact, and that sets the precedent for tonight. You are in charge, you are strong, and you are confident. No matter what happened in the past,” Dudley had refused to tell her the reason why they hadn’t spoken in so many years, “you will show them who this man is that I love so much, and they will have no choice but to love you, too. Don’t _worry_.” She smiled, and Dudley smiled weakly back, feeling a bit better.

“Thanks, Beth,” he sighed. “I _am_ brave, aren’t I?”

“Yes you are,” and she kissed him lightly and turned back to the stove where dinner was cooking. “Would you check on May? She’s supposed to be setting the table with Time, but I don’t hear him…”

Dudley nodded and made his way to the dining room. Beth had a penchant for unusual names, having grown up with such an ordinary one (it wasn’t even short for anything—her legal name was just “Beth,”), so when their son was born there was a bit of a conflict over what to call him, as Dudley knew that it was important to his parents for their grandchildren to have as normal names as possible. They finally settled on Mortimer, since they could use it around Vernon and Petunia, but it could also be shortened to a variety of more interesting nicknames for everyday use. Beth had chosen “Time” (which appears subtly in the middle of the name, to Beth’s utter and rather adorable delight), and though it was a bit too weird for Dudley at first, Beth used it with such love and devotion that it eventually grew on him.

May’s name had a much less interesting story, as it was chosen because it was both old (and therefore “classically normal”) and the name of a month. It equally satisfied both parties. Dudley had never known that it could be so hard to choose a simple name for a child, and was glad that they did not have a third.

By the time he helped May finish setting the table (Time had indeed disappeared), it was 6:30 and Dudley’s nerves returned full force, making his stomach drop with anticipation, as if he expected the Potters to Apparate directly into their house the second the clock turned (which Dudley desperately hoped they would not). But there was no _pop_ in the living room or kitchen, so Dudley went to stand at the front window so he could peer down the street.

To the east, nothing moved. In the humid summer air, not even the bees came out buzz around the flowers. Dudley turned to the west and gulped. Silhouetted in the setting sun was a family walking down the street: Two adults, corralling three ( _three!_ ) energetic children as they hopped and skipped toward the Dursley house. Dudley held his breath until the sun was no longer directly behind them before he could be sure it was them.

Harry looked the same from this distance, even down to the messy black hair. No wait, he’d filled out a bit. Yes, he definitely had. Dudley looked down at his own figure. He was still large, although for the first time since elementary school he was smaller than his father. He looked back up.

Harry and his wife, whom Dudley was relieved to see were both wearing normal clothing, stopped in front of his house and gathered the children around for some last-minute instructions and reminders. At least, that’s what it looked like. Harry’s wife had the same look that Beth did whenever she reminded the kids that best behavior was required for the next few hours. Harry added something to his wife’s lecture; something which made the kids laugh and his wife glare at him. Harry looked at bit sheepish, and then they herded the family down the Dursley’s front walk.

Dudley jumped and swallowed, dashing back to the kitchen to warn Beth that the Potters were here, and she called up the stairs for Time, who was likely in his room, to come down this instant; Dudley returned to the front door just as the doorbell rang.

He hesitated before taking the doorknob. _I am brave,_ he reminded himself, and pulled the door open.

There were several seconds of curious staring, and then Dudley held out his hand with a small smile. “It’s good to see you, Harry,” he said.

Harry smiled back, took his hand, and said, “You, too, Dudley.” They dropped hands. “My wife, Hermione,” Harry indicated the woman next to him. Dudley stared at her a moment, putting together all he knew about her (which was quite a bit, from Harry’s book) and associating it with her face. She looked just how he imagined she did (and of course, from her photo in the back of the book). “And our children,” Harry continued. “Sam, Ellery, and Lyra.”

Dudley smiled at them.

“Kids,” Harry said. “This is your Uncle Dudley.”

All three kids looked up at him with alarmingly curious eyes, and Dudley quickly backed away to invite them all in. He showed them to the living room where Dudley’s wife and kids were waiting, and introductions were made between them all.

“Wanna see my Wii 3?” Time said to Sam and Ellery almost immediately.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, and Time, incredulous, dragged them away to show them the new toy he’d just gotten from his grandparents for his 11th birthday.

It turned out that May, at 6, was a year and a half older than Lyra—a rather considerable age difference for kids so young, but it did not take much prodding by Beth for May to invite her cousin to see her room. Beth was the only adult to watch them leave without hiding a sense of apprehension.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Beth smiled. “Can I get you something to drink?” And soon she brought out a bottle of red wine for Dudley to open and serve.

“Beth’s uncle owns a vineyard in France,” Dudley explained. “So we’re never short.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Hermione said graciously. “Where in France?”

And the conversation continued along that vein for a little while between the women, while Dudley and Harry sat awkwardly, sipping their drinks as a distraction. After several minutes, Beth excused herself to pull the roast out of the oven, and Hermione stood up to “help,” though her expression (Dudley knew it well from seeing it on Beth so many times) meant that she knew it would be good for Harry and Dudley to be alone for a bit.

When they left, there were several moments of silence between Harry and Dudley. They could hear scraping metal from the kitchen, and delighted shouts and electronic explosions from Time’s bedroom.

“You told them not to, uh…” Dudley said finally, “say anything about…you know…”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “The kids are used to it. We visit Hermione’s side of the family for Easter.”

“So they’re normal, then?”

“Muggle,” Harry corrected with just a hint of sharpness. “Yes.”

“Right. Muggle.” There was a brief silence in which Dudley tried to think of something else to say, and somehow he came up with, “Weird names you gave your kids, eh?” He paused. “Except Sam.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and said, “Right, Dudley, because I must work with a dozen people named Time…”

“It’s short for Mortimer,” Dudley explained. “It was Beth’s idea. But your other two…”

Harry hesitated briefly. “Hermione thought their names should be original, since no matter what we did, the kids would be growing up in our shadows. We gave them middle names after my parents and other people we care about, but their first names are…well…theirs.”

“Huh,” Dudley said. “I guess that makes sense.”

Silence fell and Harry and Dudley both took large swallows of their wine, which was rather good, if either of them took the time to notice.

“So Big D,” Harry said eventually, and then he hesitated. “Why did you read my book? The whole thing, I mean. Because, you know…You don’t like reading.”

Dudley frowned slightly. “I do…a little bit…sometimes. I have grown up, Harry.”

“Of course,” Harry said quickly. “Sorry. I just meant…well, could you just answer the question?”

“Why I read the whole thing?”

“Yeah.”

Dudley shrugged. “It was well-written…” Much better than those boring novels he’d had to read by long-dead authors in English class.

“There are lots of well-written books out there. Why this one? It’s not as if you care about our world, right?”

Dudley shifted uncomfortably. “Well, a little bit… I was affected by it, too, you know. The war.”

“Right…” Harry said. He thought for a moment, “So if I can ask then… What did the book mean to you?”

Dudley raised an eyebrow. Or he tried; he hadn’t quite mastered that yet. “Mean to me?” His voice was a little higher-pitched than he would have liked.

“Yeah. It’s just… We’ve been getting thousands of owls about it. Lots of people love it, lots of people hate it. Quite a few are offended by it.”

“Why?” Dudley interrupted.

Harry swallowed. “Well, Voldemort and his supporters killed and tortured so many people…Even among his followers I don’t think you can find a witch or wizard who didn’t lose somebody close to them. Writing about his life is…humanizing him. And worse, immortalizing him. It’s exactly what he wanted, actually, immortality. It’s keeping his memory alive, and a lot of people think he deserves be forgotten.”

“But you don’t…” Dudley said slowly.

“No,” Harry said. “It needs to never happen again. And it won’t as long as we keep the memory of what’s possible alive. We won’t be able to ignore the signs if it starts happening again."

Dudley nodded thoughtfully.

“Anyway,” Harry continued. “The response to the book in the wizarding world is always extreme—either very good or very bad. So I wanted to know what you - a Muggle - thought of it.”

Dudley thought for a moment, which was hard with the wine he had ended up drinking so quickly. “I thought…” he eventually said. But then Beth poked her head around the corner and announced that dinner was on the table; the moment ended.

Dinner began a bit tense. Dudley knew that his wife sensed it, and hoped that she only ascribed it to the natural tension expected of cousins reunited after 15 years apart.

“Dad!” Ellery cried as the boys came bounding down the stairs. “You should see what Time has! It’s so much cooler than Luke’s computer!”

“Okay, El,” Harry said with a gentle pointedness. “Just have a seat…”

Dudley was grateful that Beth changed the subject almost right away, though he wished she’d chosen a different topic than, “So tell me what you do, Harry…”

Harry, however, seemed to be well-practiced in conversing with Mugg—normal people, and answered without hesitation as he filled his plate with green beans, “I’m in law enforcement.”

“Daddy catches bad people!” Lyra said proudly, and Harry smiled a bit nervously.

“To put it simply…” he said. “But I’m afraid I can’t discuss it much, due to confidentiality issues.”

 _Brilliant answer_ , Dudley thought. Now they didn’t have to talk about _that_ anymore…

“Fascinating!” Beth said, her eyes lit up with curiosity. She took the hint, though, and turned her attention to Hermione. “You know, Hermione, it occurred to me that I still have my button presses from when I was more involved with my crafting work. If you ever need to use them for your non-profit to free enslaved children, please feel free to stop by to borrow them! I know it’s not much, but every little bit helps…”

“It certainly does,” Hermione agreed, smiling. “Thank you. And this roast is delicious, by the way, you must tell me how you keep it so moist…”

And Harry and Hermione somehow managed to keep the conversation in safe territory, and it eventually led to their children’s schooling. Or rather, their homeschooling. Dudley thought that Beth was a little bit too fascinated with exactly how homeschooling worked, and wondered if he should be concerned that she was asking about all the practical nuances of giving the children a proper education at home. He decided that he _should_ be concerned when Beth said,

“You know, with the way the schools are going, I’ve often wondered if our children might not be better at home. I’m really not much of a teacher, though…”

Hermione was about to answer when Dudley spoke up loudly, “Time’s going to Smelting’s next year. It’ll be good for him. Better than we could do here, Dear.”

Beth frowned. “Well, we can discuss it later, of course, but I’ve never liked the looks of those sticks…”

“I turned out alright, didn’t I?” Dudley said. “And my father. It’s in the family. He’ll be treated well as a legacy.”

Beth gave a half smile of acknowledgment and turned to the Potters. “It’s just hard to let them go, too,” she said. “Eleven seems so young to go off to boarding school.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Sam is leaving this year, too. It’s going to be much quieter at home with him gone.” She sent her son a smile across the table, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Oh really?” Beth asked enthusiastically. “Where is Sam going?”

“Oh, it’s a small school in Scotland,” Hermione replied. “No one’s ever heard of it.”

“Dear, can you pass the salad?” Dudley interrupted quickly. Harry then took the opportunity to turn the conversation to Dudley, and they spoke about safely normal things for the rest of the meal.

After dessert, the children went back upstairs to play while the adults chatted in the living room over after-dinner drinks, and after the appropriate amount of time had passed, Harry declared that they should be leaving soon and getting the children to bed.

There were many Thank Yous and Good Nights and We Must Do It Again Soons and How Wonderful To Find Each Other After So Many Years exchanged, and then the door closed behind the Potters and Dudley breathed a sigh of relief.

“See?” Beth said, wrapping her arms around Dudley. “I told you it would be lovely.”


	4. Chapter Four

It came one sunny Saturday morning; the air still cool and damp from an overnight thunderstorm. The birds outside chirped merrily—at least, the ones whose beaks weren’t full of big, juicy worms. Or mail.

Beth had just set another plate of pancakes on the table, all in odd shapes thanks to May’s artistic help (and Beth’s uncanny pancake-flipping abilities, keeping May’s shapes relatively in tact). Dudley was about to choose the one that looked vaguely like a cursive “z” when a large tawny owl glided in silently as death through the open window, dropped a letter on top of the steaming pancakes, turned around the kitchen in a graceful swoop, and landed on the back of May’s empty chair.

Time stared at the owl in shock, Dudley in horror, and May in wonder. Beth, busy trying to flip a complicated squiggle, hadn’t noticed.

“Mummy, look, an owl!” May cried.

“That’s nice, sweetie…” Beth said, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

“No, Mum,” Time said. “Seriously. There’s an owl. In the kitchen.”

Beth glanced up skeptically, saw the owl, and shrieked. The owl did not jump.

“Dudley, _do_ something!”

Dudley jumped and instead of shooing the bird away, leapt for the letter it had dropped on the pancakes. The rest of the family stared at him strangely, having not even noticed what the owl had brought.

“Dad…?” Time asked uncertainly as Dudley forced himself to look at the envelope. “You’re really pale…”

Dudley was indeed quite pale, though he whitened even further when he his fears were confirmed. Dudley knew that seal. That seal with the “H.” He couldn’t live with a Hogwarts student for 6 years and not know it, even one as ostracized from the family as Harry.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had just sent Mortimer S. Dursley, his _son_ , a letter. What in the name of Pete was he supposed to do?

The owl hopped onto the table to grab May’s half-eaten bacon. May yelled and jumped at the bird to shoo it away. Beth yelled and jumped at May to pull her away from the owl. And the owl jumped and spread its great wings to fly out the window.

“WAIT!” Dudley held out his hand to the owl. It paused. “Just a moment. Wait, please.” He searched frantically around for paper and a pen while the owl folded its wings again (to his family’s utter amazement), and ended up tearing off a piece of his newspaper and taking the pen that Time had been using to sketch an imaginary monster around the orange juice stains on his napkin.

He wrote as quickly and legibly as his shaking hand would allow, still gripping Time’s letter in the other shaking hand,

 _He got a letter. Help.  
_ _Dudley_

Then he held it out to the owl and said shakily, “Take this to Harry Potter. Please. Godric’s Hollow. As quickly as you can.”

The owl swallowed May’s bacon, hooted, took the note in its beak, and flew out the window.

“Hurry!” Dudley yelled after it, and then looked at his family. They all stared at him in confusion, and Dudley looked away.

“Daddy can speak to owls!” May finally said excitedly, and she bounced forward in the way that she always did preparing to leap into his arms.

“No!” Dudley cried, and May stopped, frowning. “No, I can’t! I can’t talk to owls! Leave me alone!”

“Dad, what’s that letter?” Time asked.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Dudley gripped it tighter, backing away.

“Dudley?” Beth said, trying to keep her voice steady. “What’s happening?”

Dudley started panting heavily in rising panic. “Don’t ask questions! Just-- SHHH! I need to…Don’t—”

He had backed up against the wall now, and he started to pace in restlessness, muttering to himself as he went.

“Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” May asked quietly, finding her mother’s hand.

“Dear,” Beth said as calmly as she could. “You’re scaring the children.” Dudley heard the “and me” tacked silently onto the end. He didn’t say anything to her, he just kept muttering.

“Dudley…” Beth said again shakily, stepping cautiously forward. “Why were you talking to the owl? Why was it here?”

“Don’t—” Dudley said again, holding up a hand. “Just…don’t talk…”

“No, Dudley, I really think we need to talk right now. Kids, why don’t you go upstairs, okay?”

“NO!” Dudley cried, and they all jumped. “No, no, just wait. Wait until he gets here. He can sort this out. It’s just a mistake, he’ll know it is…” His pacing became a bit more frantic, and some of the color returned to his face in exertion. He jabbed a finger toward Time and said forcefully, "You're going to  _Smeltings!_ "

“What’s a mista—”

“I SAID NO TALKING!” Dudley yelled. Though part of him immediately regretted it at the look on their faces, he didn’t recant anything, and in the silence he went back to his incoherent, panicking thoughts.

Beth put an arm around each of her children as she tried to think desperately what to do, and Dudley knew that it wasn’t long before she acted. He might lose his family. Over a letter. He felt sick.

“Daddy’s face is green,” May whispered, and Beth shushed her. There was silence for a while longer, except for Dudley’s nonsense muttering. He sounded like his father sometimes did when he was particularly upset, though that hadn’t happened since…

Oh god, his _father_.

Nausea swelled in his body and Dudley gagged it back. He couldn’t think about that. He wouldn’t.

Dudley suddenly ran past his family to the sink, where he was very sick.

“Ewwww!” his children cried, and they held their noses.

Beth gave May’s hand to her brother to hold and cautiously approached Dudley as he was sick again. He didn’t hear her until she was right next him and placing a tentative hand on his back. Dudley turned on the faucet to rinse the sink and his mouth, letting Beth rub his back gently.

“Sweetheart…” she murmured.

Dudley straightened up and dried his mouth on a dish towel, trembling. Then there was a loud _pop_ , and everyone but Dudley jumped in fright. Beth and the kids yelled again, but Dudley ran forward to Harry, who was in green wizard’s robes and pivoting on the spot to get his bearings.

“Harry!” Dudley cried, and practically fell on him in his hurry to reach him.

“It’s okay, Big D,” Harry said, catching Dudley before he crashed to the ground and setting him upright.

“Harry, Harry, it’s a mistake, right? It’s a mistake.” He clutched at Harry’s robes, the letter still in his fist. “A hoax! Look, they didn’t even put where he sleeps on it!” And he thrust the crumpled letter into Harry’s hands, who looked at it seriously.

After an endless, careful moment of examination, Harry said with a devastating quiet, “It’s real, Dudley.”

“No…” Dudley squeaked. He cleared his throat and said in a low rasp. “No, please say no.”

“You know it is, Dudley,” Harry said. “And you know what you have to do now.”

Dudley stared at Harry, breathing heavily. He swallowed, gripping Harry’s robes tighter. “What do I have to do?”

Harry held the letter out to Dudley. “You have to give it to him.”

Dudley blanched. His mouth fell open and he looked at the letter, then back to Harry.

Then back to the letter.

He let one hand go of Harry’s robes and took the letter. He looked at Harry again, who nodded, but did not push him forward. Dudley released the robes from his other hand.

Dudley looked at his son, who was gripping his mother as tightly as little May. No father in his right mind would allow his child to go to such a dangerous school; to become part of _that_ world. Child Services would lock him away if they knew. If _they_ had read the book. If _they_ had experienced Dudley’s childhood. _They_ didn’t know about Dementors. But Dudley did.

Dudley shook his head slowly.

“Dudley,” Harry said gently, but firmly. “The letter is addressed to _him_.”

Dudley swallowed and glanced at the envelope. _To Mr. Mortimer S. Dursley,_ it read.

“It doesn’t say where he sleeps,” Dudley repeated quietly.

“It doesn’t have to,” Harry replied.

There was silence.

“Dudley,” Harry said slowly. “Listen to me. The most important thing you can do right now as a father, a role model…” Dudley looked up. “Is give. Your son. His letter.”

Dudley looked at Time. He bit his lip. And slowly…stretched out the shaking arm that held the Hogwarts letter. Time hesitated. Dudley took a tiny step forward. Time pulled away from his mother, reached out, and took (or rather, pried) the letter from Dudley’s hand.

He took a moment to stare at the seal before opening it.

“Read it out loud,” Harry said as Time unfolded the paper. He glanced nervously around the room and read,

“Dear Mr. Dursley… We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of…” His eyebrows shot up and he looked at Harry and his father in surprise. Dudley swallowed down a tremble, but Harry smiled warmly at him.

“Of what?” May asked curiously.

“Witchcraft and Wizardry?” Beth read over Time’s shoulder.

“Wow!” May exclaimed. “Can I go, too?”

“No!” Dudley cried, and May shrank back.

“Dudley,” Beth said. “They’re not _serious_?”

“Completely serious,” Harry said. “You should be very proud. Hogwarts is the best there is. Not all witches and wizards in Britain gets accepted to Hogwarts.”

“Witchcraft and _Wizardry_?” Beth cried.

“Are you going to learn to be a wizard like Uncle Harry?” May asked Time. Everyone stared at her.

Dudley gaped at his daughter. “How did you know?”

May gave him a look. “Daddy…” she said. “How else did he just appear out of thin air?"

Harry smiled. “She’s smart, Dudley.”

“So…” Beth said slowly. “You’re a…wizard…and Time is…”

“Also a wizard,” Harry nodded.

“Am I?” May asked eagerly.

“We don’t know just yet,” Harry said to her. “Maybe.”

May beamed.

“And now,” Beth continued, “he goes to…Wizard School? Just like that? Don’t we get a say in this?”

“Of course,” Harry said. “It’s always up to the family. But it’s very rare for anyone to refuse.”

“Why?”

Harry looked temporarily stumped by the question. “Why not?” he said. “As I said, Hogwarts is the best. I might be a little biased, of course…”

“And you _knew_ about this?” Beth turned to her husband.

Dudley shuffled his feet. “I grew up with Harry,” he said. “Of course I knew.” He hesitated and then said, “I…I have something to show you.” He stumbled out of the kitchen and returned a minute later, carrying Harry’s book.

“Remember that fantasy novel I picked up several weeks ago?” He held the book out to her. The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as she took it and the children eagerly crowded in to look. All three of them gasped at the same time, and Beth nearly dropped it out of fright.

“Uncle Harry’s waving at us!” May cried excitedly, and waved back at the cover.

Beth held out a hand to find the nearest chair and sit down. The children took the book from her and continued staring at it.

“Maybe I should leave you for a bit…” Harry suggested. “Let you talk about it. Are you okay, Dudley?”

“I don’t know,” Dudley croaked. “…My parents…”

“Oh yeah,” Harry winced. “Don’t tell them until after he’s there. They might come fix bars on his window…”

Beth glanced up, alarmed.

“Right,” Dudley said. “Don’t tell them. I’ll do that.” He paused. “What else do I do?”

Harry stared at Dudley for a moment. “Just love him,” he said.

Dudley nodded.

Harry stepped back as he prepared to go and then stopped. “We’re taking Sam to Diagon Alley get his school things on Friday. You’re welcome to come with us… Just give us a ring and let us know.”

Again, he was about leave when he paused. “Speaking of… Why didn’t you call instead of owling us?”

Dudley’s eyes slowly widened in horror. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t I _call_ you?”

“Dudley!” Beth cried, and covered May’s ears.

“I owled you!” Dudley yelled. “Why? _Why?!_ ”

“Calm down, Big D. You were just stressed, I get it,” Harry said. “It happens to the best of us.” He gave an encouraging smile, and then turned to Beth. “But seriously,” he walked over to the table and picked up the pen Dudley had used. “If he gets hysterical, _call me_.” He scribbled his number in the margin of the newspaper for quick access.

“Good luck,” he said, then looked at Time and smiled. “And congratulations.”

Harry Disapparated with a loud _pop_ and for a long time, the Dursleys just stared at each other in the leftover silence.

~~*~~

Dudley called the Potters the next morning. After Harry had left, Beth had made tea for everyone and Dudley told the family about his childhood with Harry. He told them of the terrifying things that had happened to him (omitting many of the more personal or horrific details for the sake of the children—perhaps he would tell his wife some day what the Dementors made him see), and why he had come to see magic as so dangerous.

It was perhaps the most reasoned conversation Dudley had ever had. He was a little bit impressed with his ability to stay calm (and he vaguely wondered if Beth hadn’t added something to his tea…but he once asked her several years later, and she said that she hadn’t).

Dudley insisted that his wife read the book (or at least certain portions) before she gave an opinion on what they should do, but Time was convinced right away, despite Dudley’s story, that he wanted to go learn magic. How could he go to Smelting’s now, knowing what he was? Dudley’s heart sank at the thought that Time would not be continuing his education at Dudley’s Alma Mater, and his stomach tightened with nausea each time he thought of what his parents would say.

Thus, the next morning at work, Dudley decided to make the decision and have it all over with. He picked up the phone on his desk (which had gathered a light layer of dust) and dialed the Potter’s number. Hermione answered.

“Hello, Potters,” she said.

“Hermione…it’s Dudley…”

“Oh! Yes! Dudley. How are you?”

“Oh, just fine, thanks,” Dudley said obligatorily. He was secretly a bit glad it was she who answered—though he supposed Harry was probably at work anyway—because she would be a lot easier to say this to than him. “Look, I just wanted to say, thanks, but Time has decided to go to Smelting’s this year, and won’t be needing anything for H-Hogwarts, so we won’t be joining you on Friday. Give Harry our gratitude for all his help yesterday and everything, and, you know…keep in touch.” He almost hung up without saying goodbye, but he hesitated, and he lost the opportunity.

“Oh…” she started to say, and he could see her scrutinizing expression in his mind. Then she took a breath. “Well, I’m really sorry to hear that, of course. Sam was really looking forward to seeing more of his cousin. The kids had a wonderful time at dinner last week…”

“Mm,” Dudley said. “Sure, sure, I know our kids did, too,” he replied. He needed to say goodbye.

“I know! Why don’t you and your family come over for dinner tonight? It would only be right for us to return the gesture.”

“Oh, no need,” he said quickly.

“No, no,” Hermione said, “I insist. Same time, tonight. Otherwise it might be a very long time since our boys see each other.”

“But really,” Dudley said, “I think we have—”

“And please be sure to let Beth know,” Hermione continued, “that there’s nothing to be concerned about here as far as safety goes. We’ve childproofed the whole house. Not that I think she _is_ concerned, just that I know I would be. You’ll let her know, won’t you?”

“Of course, but—”

“Excellent! Do you have a pen? Let me give you directions…”

Dudley wasn’t sure what made him do it. Flustered, he scrambled for a pen and paper, and copied Hermione’s directions word for word.

“I’m so glad you called, Dudley,” Hermione said brightly. “We’re looking forward to seeing you tonight!”

“Mm,” Dudley said meekly.

“Goodbye!”

“Bye, bye…”

And they hung up, leaving Dudley wondering what on earth just happened.

~~*~~

Dudley was very glad he’d written Hermione’s directions down so well, for they were very strange. There were instructions such as, “You need to make a U-turn at Oakridge three times or Godric Avenue won’t appear…” on it that Dudley hadn’t noticed in his haze of verbatim copying, but which turned out to be very useful indeed in reaching the Potter’s on time.

“Mummy, look! The people are wearing pointed hats!” May exclaimed, pressing her face against the car window as they passed through the ancient town square.

“And robes…” Time muttered. He gasped as he watched a mother pick her child up out of the mud puddle he’d tripped into and siphon every bit of dirt off with her wand.

“They look ridiculous,” Dudley muttered, trying to navigate through all the distraction of Godric’s Hollow.

“Turn right here,” his wife said, and he turned.

“Daddy!” May cried, staring out the back window. “Turn around! That statue just _changed_!”

“Not now, May,” Dudley said tersely. “Just sit down and look forward!” His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

The Potter’s house was not too far down the street, and they parked in front of it. It was centuries old, but astoundingly well-maintained. Though the summer vegetation grew huge around the house, as indistinct, messy, and beautiful as a Van Gogh painting, a very small part of Dudley approved; the part of him that grew up with so much clutter that he'd needed two bedrooms to fit it all.

All four Dursleys gripped hands as they walked down the path—the adults from nervousness and the children from excitement. Child-sized broomsticks lay abandoned in the front yard and a set of pruning shears was trimming a huge flowering bush near the edge of the house—by itself.

 _How recklessly dangerous_ , Dudley thought. _You can’t just leave something like that unattended with children running around!_

They knocked on the door, and Ellery soon answered.

“They’re heeeeere!” he yelled into the house and dashed off to find his mother, leaving the Dursleys standing on the front stoop. May tried to run in after him, but Dudley held a tight grip on her.

The whole house was moving. The people in the pictures on the hallway walls (which showed a surprising amount of redheads) stirred, chatted, waved, switched frames, and dozed without order, several strange gadgets on the floor of the room just off to the right whirred, flipped, and spun on their own, a white owl sat in its open cage in the corner of the room eating its food, and Lyra suddenly ran by the open door, laughing as she tried to catch a small flying golden ball. Dudley was about to turn his family around when Hermione appeared around the corner, looking slightly frazzled, but beaming all the same.

“Oh, I’m so glad you found the house alright! Come in, come in!”

And the children pulled their parents through the door, which Hermione closed behind them. They were trapped.

“Mum,” Ellery came dashing back into the hall. “The pot is about to boil over.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione said. “Take your cousins to play, now, go on,” and she gestured for Dudley and Beth to follow her back to the kitchen.

“Harry should be back any moment,” she said, pulling out her wand and lowering the flames under the pot before the contents spilled. “There was a bit of a problem at work, apparently…”

The kitchen seemed to be the only normal place in the house so far, and Dudley relaxed a bit. Until he saw the thing that Beth was already staring hard at in wonder. A large clock sat on the wall above a huge fireplace—not very extraordinary until Dudley realized that the clock had too many hands and they were each labeled with the family member’s names. Harry’s was pointed to “Work,” while the others were at “Home.”

“That was a wedding gift from the Weasleys,” Hermione explained as she searched the cupboards for something.

“There’s one for ‘Mortal Peril’!” Beth exclaimed in alarm.

“Harry’s is on that about once a week,” Hermione replied, still searching the cupboards. “But that’s just the nature of his job. The children’s hands have never pointed to it, knock on wandwood.”

Dudley found that a little hard to believe, but he said nothing.

Suddenly, a green fire erupted in the fireplace, and he and Beth leapt backwards with shocked yells. A moment later, Harry stepped out of the fireplace.

“Oh, sorry,” he said at their shocked, pale expressions. “Good to you see you, glad you could come…” And then he strode over to the kitchen table and collapsed in one of the chairs.

“They can travel by fire,” Dudley said quietly to his wife, as he realized he’d completely forgotten to mention that to her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said weakly, and gripped his hand for support.

“What a day!” Harry said as Hermione set a glass of something in front of him and leaned down to kiss him hello. She went back to searching the cupboards.

“Mundungus is impossible to find these days. I think we might have to put a Trace on him…”

“That’s illegal,” Hermione frowned.

“So is harboring information on a wanted witch!” Harry replied. “His morals are slipping, Hermione. Farther than normal, I mean. And don’t even get me started on the Knovell case…” He sighed and glanced at Dudley and Beth. “Have a seat,” he said, standing up. “Something to drink? We have fresh iced pumpkin juice…”

Dudley made a noise in his throat that Harry must have taken for a “yes,” because he strode over to the cupboard to get some glasses.

“Where’s the nice serving pitcher, Hermione?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to—oh, for heaven’s sake, help me catch them, will you? _Accio serving set!_ ” And from the next room over came clanking and crashing sounds as an entire set of china zoomed into the kitchen, which Harry and Hermione caught somewhat awkwardly in their arms and set down on the counter. Hermione picked up one of the plates and scrutinized it.

“ _Reparo_ ,” she said, tapping it, and set it back down. “Who on earth put the set in there?”

“Fleur, probably,” Harry answered, picking out two glasses and filling them with pumpkin juice. “She keeps hers on display in that glass armoire in her dining room.”

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly, but said nothing.

“One of the hazards of living in a large family,” Harry explained as he handed Dudley and Beth each a glass.

Dudley frowned as he sniffed the drink. It reminded him of pumpkin pie. “What large family?” he said. “You’re the only wi…one of your kind in our family.” He noticed that Beth had already tried her drink and seemed to enjoy it, so he took a hesitant sip. It wasn’t bad. Again, kind of like pumpkin pie.

“The Weasleys,” Harry replied, and sat down again. “You remember them, don’t you?”

“You mean the ones who almost choked my husband to death?” Beth said a little coldly.

Harry looked at her in surprise. “Just the twins, when they were younger,” he said. “It was only a joke and Arthur put it all right. Anyway,” he sat back, “We’ve made Arthur and Molly the kids’ legal grandparents—since they don’t have any wizarding grandparents and in case something happens to Hermione and me…”

“And they’re close enough to family anyway,” Hermione added. “It almost seemed wrong not to acknowledge them as practically blood relations…”

“Right…but with all their children and their children’s families, well…Christmases are just chaos.”

“ _Normal_ days are just chaos,” Hermione said, voice slightly muffled now that she was deep in the pantry. She poked her head briefly out. “Yesterday Harry and I had Ron _and_ Ginny’s kids here all evening…”

“But it’s nice for when both Hermione and I have to work,” Harry said. “There’s always someone who can watch the kids.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, emerging from the pantry with an armful of ingredients. “Dinner’s still a few minutes from being done. Why don’t you show Dudley and Beth the house?”

“Right, sure…” Harry said, standing up uncertainly. “Want to see it?”

“I’ve seen a wizard’s house, thanks,” Dudley said. “I used to _live_ in one.” He shrank a little at Beth’s quick glare that told him he was being rude.

“But _I_ haven’t,” Beth said. “What?” She raised her eyebrows at Dudley’s expression. “You said I needed to be well-informed to make a decision. You’re right. Let’s at least go see what the kids are up to.”

That convinced Dudley to follow them out of the kitchen, even though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know what the kids were up to. He still liked the security of ignorance, false as it may be.

Upon closer inspection, even Dudley had to (privately) admit that the Potter house wasn’t _quite_ as dangerous or chaotic as it had first seemed. The toys on the floor scooted out of the way so no one would trip over them, and when Dudley accidentally hit his leg against the corner of the coffee table in the living room, he found that it was invisibly cushioned so it didn’t hurt at all. The pictures on the walls were the only décor that moved, and almost everything else was relatively normal. Even Dudley’s mother would be envious of the Potters’ furnishings and art, and Dudley wondered briefly how much money Harry and Hermione each made at work.

They found the girls in the family room, which was slightly less well-kept and was home to considerably more toys. May and Lyra were still trying to catch the winged golden ball, which was hovering near the ceiling. They were breathless and pink-faced with exertion, but smiling widely.

“Daddy, Sam and El won’t give me my broom,” Lyra said as she balanced on the edge of the sofa’s armrest, preparing to jump.

“Good,” Harry replied. “No brooms in the house. You know that.”

“But it won’t come down!” She said in exasperation, and leapt off the sofa, reaching with wildly off aim for the ball. Harry caught his daughter in one arm and the ball in the other hand. He handed it to her, and Lyra shook her head.

“Kiss it,” she demanded, and to Dudley’s surprise, Harry kissed the metal ball. To his greater surprise, it opened, and Lyra delightedly scooped something out of it.

“How many times have I talked to you about hiding your things in there?” Harry asked, trying to mask his amusement.

“Thanks, Daddy,” Lyra said simply, and scrambled to get down. Then she and May dashed off.

“What is that?” Beth asked as Harry closed the ball.

“It’s a snitch,” Harry explained, and he held it out to her. Dudley gripped her hand, but Beth took it cautiously, and smiled at the feathery wings fluttering against her fingers.

“It’s used in a sport called Quidditch. I used to play on my house team at Hogwarts; this was the first one I ever caught.”

Beth brought it closer to look at, and Dudley leaned in, in spite of himself. He’d only ever heard of a brief mention of Quidditch—it was hardly on anyone’s mind during the war.

“Why does it open when you kiss it?”

“It has a flesh memory,” Harry said, “in case there’s dispute over who caught it. When I say it was the first one I caught…well, I actually almost swallowed it.” He shuffled, mildly embarrassed. “So it responds to my mouth instead of my hand. Normally they don’t open… This one’s special.”

“Oh,” Dudley said slowly. “This is the one from your book…”

“Yes,” Harry said.

Beth, not having read that part yet, glanced between them, but said nothing. She gave the snitch back to Harry, who let it go. They watched it zoom off again, and then Harry led them upstairs.

Several minutes later, Dudley was just beginning to relax slightly when he happened to glance out of the window in Sam’s room, which overlooked the backyard, and gave a yell of shock.

Beth and Harry jumped and looked up from the Quidditch poster that Harry was trying to explain.

“Get him off that broom!” Dudley yelled, and turned to rush down the stairs to pull his son off of the broom he was riding ( _riding!_ ) before he fell off and _died_.

“Whoa, hey Dudley,” Harry caught him. “Calm down, man, it’s just a kid’s broom. It won’t go higher than four feet or faster than a bike. He’s _fine_.”

“I can’t take this,” Dudley said. “I can’t _take_ this!” And he sat down quite suddenly on Sam’s bed, his knees having given out. Harry looked over at Beth.

“Would you mind…giving us a minute?” He looked at her apologetically, and though it looked like the last thing she wanted to do, she nodded.

“I’ll see if Hermione needs help…you can see into the back yard from the kitchen, right?” And she left.

Harry sighed and sat down next to a shaking Dudley. After a moment, Harry said, “You’re doing well, Big D.”

“No I’m bloody well not!” Dudley cried. “My family is falling apart! If I let Time go to Hogwarts, my parents will disown us. If I don’t let Time go to Hogwarts, my _kids_ will disown me. My kids or my parents, my kids or my parents…”

“Is that even a question?” Harry asked.

“Yes!” Dudley exclaimed. “I know _you_ don’t like my parents, or get what it’s like to _have_ parents,” Harry started beside him and Dudley could hear his teeth clench together, but he kept talking anyway, “but my mum and dad are _important_ to me! _And_ they’re important to my kids! They’ve done a _lot_ for us…”

Dudley glanced over at Harry, who was a bit red in the face from anger. “And also: this world _hurt_ us! You told me to love my son and I _do_ , so I ask you: What kind of a loving father would send his son into a world where there are _Dementors_? Where the schools teach you how to fight and hide from each other? You’re all so stuck in your old-fashioned ways, with your quills and your slow post, it’s no wonder your last war was over an old notion like blood status. Our world grew past all that _decades_ ago. I will not send my son back to a more barbaric time!”

“Really?” Harry interrupted quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Then why is your family fighting over blood status right now?”

Dudley started, but said nothing.

“It was your parents’ war with me, and now it’s your war with your kids. You Muggles haven’t gotten over it; you’re just more subtle about it.” Harry paused. “Dudley, our world is dangerous, but so is yours. And your son is a part of both. Not sending him to Hogwarts won’t make him a Muggle. A person is a wizard from birth, and that’s just something you’ll have to accept. Especially because you’ve seen first-hand that stamping it out doesn’t work.”

Dudley swallowed. Silence fell for a bit, and finally Harry sighed.

“How can I convince you that our world isn’t like you think?” Harry asked quietly.

Dudley thought for a moment. How _could_ he be convinced of that? This was a lifetime of knowledge and experience— _two_ lifetimes, when you counted his mother—and Dudley couldn’t just throw that away. Of course, Harry had a lot _more_ experience than just Dudley himself, what with everything Dudley had read in Harry’s book, and considering Harry’s job.

And then it hit him. Of course. In order to prove to his family and himself that the magical world is indeed much too dangerous and strange of a place for Time, he must spend a day with the most dangerous and strange wizard he knew in the most dangerous and strange occupation he knew: Harry Potter, Head of the Evil Wizard Catcher’s Office.

“I will go to work with you tomorrow,” Dudley announced.

Harry blinked several times. “Wh-what?”

“Yes,” Dudley said. “You’re right: I need to fully see your world to understand how dangerous it is. Tomorrow, I will follow you to the wizard police station, and you can show me how you catch criminals.”

“But—Big D…I mean,” Harry sputtered. “It’s really not that exciting. I mean, I’m Harry Potter. They kind of surrender as soon as I walk in…”

“I want to see it,” Dudley repeated. “If you can keep your world safe enough for my son…” Dudley couldn’t quite bring himself to say that he would let Time go to Hogwarts, so he let the sentence hang.

Harry thought for a few moments, cleared his throat, and finally said. “Alright, Big D… Be here by 7:30…”

~~*~~

Beth took a few extra moments on her way to the kitchen to stare at the photographs on the hallway wall. They looked like the same kind of photos one might find in her house—except that they were moving, of course.

There were the professionally-taken photos of various stages throughout the family’s growth: some of the children as babies and toddlers, some of the parents and grandparents, and some of all three generations together. And then there were amateur shots of family posing at reunions, and quite a few of Harry, Hermione, and a young man with ginger hair standing in front of a variety of famous world landmarks. And there were the candid shots taken at birthdays and Christmases of people laughing; of the children’s first steps and first broomstick rides…there was one of Ellery helping his father bake a cake. It was all so strikingly normal that Beth was almost able to forget that the pictures moved and reacted to her.

She continued on.

Hermione looked like a musical conductor as she moved about the kitchen. She jabbed her wand at a pot to move it off the stove, swirled it toward the dish scrubbers in the sink to work on the dirty mixing bowls, and swished it at that platter of roasted chicken to replace the flower centerpiece on the table, which zoomed over to set down on the windowsill. Beth could not help but feel the tiniest bit jealous.

Beth cleared her throat. “Need any help?” She knew it was a silly question, but she felt obligated to ask anyway.

Hermione turned in surprise. “Oh,” she said. “No, please, just have a seat. We’re almost ready.” She smiled and then leaned over a pot of greens to check their progress. “Where are Harry and Dudley?” she asked.

“Oh, they’re upstairs talking about…manly things…” Beth wasn’t quite sure why she wasn’t being so truthful, but she smiled to hide it as she sat down in the nearest chair. “I decided to come down and keep you company.”

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, directing the steamed greens to pour themselves into a nice serving dish. “I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk.”

“Oh?” Beth said uncertainly. “About what?”

“About Hogwarts, of course,” Hermione said, in such a way that Beth felt like she should have known, even though she honestly hadn’t. Hermione continued, “It’s just that I remember what it was like when I got my letter. I was raised by Muggles, you know,” (Beth didn’t know), “and though we were all so pleased, it was also a bit scary; not knowing what to expect and everything.”

Beth nodded. _That_ she knew.

“So I just thought…” Hermione hesitated. “Well, it’s none of my business, of course, but I wanted to give you the opportunity…”

Beth glanced down at her hands. Opportunity to do what? Ask this clearly biased woman just how dangerous this world really is? If it was worth it to her? Because of course it must have been, or she wouldn’t be standing there levitating food across the kitchen with her wand. But that didn’t guarantee it would be worth it for Beth and her family.

“Time wants to go,” Beth said eventually, still looking at her hands.

“But you don’t want him to.” It was a half-question.

“I don’t know,” Beth said. “But Dudley doesn’t. And I think his reasons are very sound.”

“Let me guess,” Hermione said. Beth thought this was a bit bold of her, but she didn’t say anything. “He’s decided that magic is dangerous because of candy that can choke you, because we all carry these deadly weapons, because there are some of us who want power and are willing to kill to get it… How is that different from Muggles?”

Beth glanced up. “It’s different because it’s out of control. Dudley told me about how Harry couldn’t put their Aunt Marge right when he blew her up like a balloon, and Dudley was almost dead by the time the spell from the candy was taken off. And you spent _months_ looking for tiny things to destroy to defeat that…evil man—you couldn’t even summon them! What good is all this magic if you can’t wield it properly when it’s most important?”

Hermione swallowed, and suddenly all the magical movement in the kitchen slowed down and stopped. Hermione walked over and sat down in the chair beside Beth. She took a moment before she responded. “There are laws in magic,” she said finally, “just like there are laws in science. That’s a good thing: ultimate and total power isn’t healthy for anyone to wield, and most of us understand that. It’s the ones who don’t who usually become the despots.”

She hesitated. “But perhaps even more dangerous than being able to wield complete power, is having a power and not being able to control it at _all_. Beth, your son has this power. If it hasn’t started manifesting already—which I’m sure it has, even if you haven’t noticed—it will soon, and none of you will know what to do with it. Hogwarts is the safest place for him, and for your family. When he’s there, he’ll learn how to properly channel the magic, under some of the best tutelage and supervision the wizarding world can offer.”

Hermione paused. “When I was 8, I was on holiday in Belgium with my parents. A pigeon stole the waffle they’d just bought for me off a street cart, and I was so angry, I wished with all my might that the bird would choke on my treat. And then it did. It jerked and fell out of the air and onto the road, where a car ran over it. I was horrified. I tried to convince myself that I hadn’t done anything— _couldn’t_ have—but after I realized I’m a witch, of course, I knew. Birds don’t eat mid-flight. Accidents happen, Beth, and you need someone close by who knows how to handle it, in case it’s more than a bird that gets hurt.”

Hermione gave her a small, encouraging smile, and then stood up to resume final dinner preparations.

“ _Mum!_ ” Time burst in through the back door, closely followed by Sam and Ellery. “Mum, _look!_ ” He stopped at his mother’s chair, breathing hard, and held out his hand. Beth’s breath caught in her throat. Time was holding a tiny buttercup in his palm, which had balanced itself on its stem and was waving its golden petals at her.

“It’s for you, Mum,” he said, and he picked up her hand and tipped the flower into it, where it dropped instantly and lay limp on her skin. Beth bit her lip and looked up. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said.


	5. Chapter Five

Dudley arrived at 7:21am the next morning in front of Harry’s house and used the extra few minutes to swallow away his nerves. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been thinking the previous night, and he would have liked to have blamed it on too much to drink, except that the Potters had not served alcohol during dinner. So instead, Dudley blamed it on too _little_ to drink. When he’d called in sick to work that morning, Dudley felt like he wasn’t lying in the slightest. He probably _was_ rather sick in the mind, to come up with such a crazy idea just to prove a point. But people did crazy things for the sake of their children. Dudley knew that.

Dudley locked his car door (though he wasn’t sure why he bothered—normal locks wouldn’t stop wizards from breaking and entering) and walked up to the front door. The pruning shears were now snipping away at a bush on the other side of the walk.

A tiny redheaded girl with huge curls that made her face look twice as round as it actually was opened the door this time. The girl looked at him curiously without saying anything. Dudley stared back.

“Can I come in?” he asked eventually.

“I’m not allowed to let strangers in,” she answered.

“Oh,” Dudley said. “Then…can you go find someone who _can_ let me in?”

She furrowed her tiny little brow in thought. “How do I know you won’t come in while I’m gone?”

Dudley rolled his eyes. “I’ll stay here. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?"

“Pinky promise,” Dudley promised, trying to hide his exasperation.

“Daddy says never let anyone in, even if they promise they’ll be good.”

“Well then for Pete’s sake, why did you ask?!” Dudley cried.

“Just to see if you would,” the girl replied.

“HARRY!” Dudley finally bellowed into the house.

Harry appeared from the kitchen a second later, a piece of toast in his hand. “Morning, Dudley. Why didn’t you come in? Rosie went to open the door ages ago.”

“Might want to rethink sending _her_ next time. She’s a right little watchdog,” Dudley said, edging around the girl.

“Huh?” Harry said.

“Daddy says never to let strangers inside,” Rosie repeated.

“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “Forgot you were a stranger, Big D. Sorry. Coffee?” And he turned and led the way into the kitchen while Rosie heaved the heavy wooden door shut and then ran away to find the other children.

Dudley was slightly taken aback by the redheaded man sitting at the Potter’s kitchen table—he knew him…

“Ron,” Harry said, “you remember my cousin Dudley?”

“Oh yeah, right,” Ron said, standing up and brushing crumbs off his robes. He extended a hand and Dudley took it tentatively. “It’s been a while. Last time I saw you was…” He scrunched up his face, thinking.

“The Ton-Tongue Toffee incident,” Harry said, sitting back down in front of his plate.

“Oh yeah…” Ron said, smiling. Hermione, who was passing by on her way into the room with a newspaper in her hand, swatted him with it, and he quickly became serious again. Ron cleared his throat. “Sorry about that…” He sat back down.

“Coffee?” Harry offered again, and Dudley declined. “Just as well, we need to be off soon…”

“Ron, you’ll be seeing Nigel today, won’t you?” Hermione asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Should be,” Ron replied. “I think he has morning shift all week.”

“Would you give him this for me?” She pulled out her wand, flicked it, and an envelope soared out of her pocket, across the room, and landed neatly beside Ron’s plate.

“That’s not at all mysterious…” Ron muttered, picking up the envelope and squinting at it.

“It’s also not at all your business,” Hermione replied.

“Nigel’s late on his S.P.E.W. dues,” Harry explained, and Hermione swatted him this time.

“Blimey,” Ron said. “It’s like Madam Pince’s overdue library notes. Those terrified me. I think I still have Hogwarts’ copy of _Wand Flicks, Swishes, and Jabs: How to Improve Wand Movement_ because I was too terrified to face Madam Pince to give it back. Remind me never to be late with my _Spew_ dues, Harry…” He glanced apprehensively at Hermione. “I’ve paid this quarter, haven’t I?”

Hermione frowned at him. “Yes, you have, and for goodness sake give me that book, Ron; I’ll send it back to Hogwarts with Sam.”

“Right,” Ron replied, tucking the envelope away in his robes and checking his watch. “Well, gotta go, I have several patients with Spattergoit I need to check up on. They always send them to me and completely forget that I never actually _had_ Spattergoit…”

Dudley tried to blink away the swirl of confusion in his head. Spattergoit? Spew? Dudley _thought_ that wizards spoke English. He also made a mental note about Madam Pince. He had once heard that teachers and librarians were supposed to be encouraging, so that was one mark against Hogwarts…already. He gave a satisfied smirk.

Before he knew it, Ron had left in an explosion of green flames through the fireplace.

“We should be going, too,” Harry said, though he was addressing Hermione. “Are you coming in today?”

“Yes, I have a meeting with the Moroccan Prime Minister at 1:00, but Ginny said she’d be here for the kids by noon so I can have lunch with you. I think I forgot to tell Ron to pick Hugo and Rosie up at Ginny’s this afternoon, but I guess he’ll figure it out… See you for lunch?”

“Right,” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry?”

Harry looked at her.

“You _will_ talk to him today, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“It’s just that I know you’re not looking forward to it, and—”

“Hermione: there’s way more at stake here than an old school grudge. I _want_ to get this started. I’ll talk to him today.”

Hermione smiled, satisfied. “Good. Alright, have a good morning, then…”

“See you later.” Harry turned to a thoroughly confused Dudley. “Let’s go Big D. Er…are you still _sure_ you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Dudley said, more confidently than he felt.

“Might want to give him some robes, Harry,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Or else you’ll be bombarded with questions…”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Harry said, and he steered Dudley upstairs quickly to find a set of plain black robes that he could wear (widened a bit magically, from what Dudley understood, with an adapted spell that was supposed to make things bigger on the inside than they looked on the outside, because as Hermione explained with all the sensible reason that Dudley should have known, she was “no tailor”…). Harry then rushed Dudley to the fireplace because they were late now and Harry grabbed a jar off the mantle.

“No time to explain how this works, Dudley,” Harry said, “so you’ll just have to hold on tight.”

Dudley whimpered quietly in his throat. Hold on tight? _It’s for Time,_ he reminded himself, and that boosted his bravery just in time for the fireplace to burst into green flames in front of his eyes. Harry grabbed his hand, pulled him in, and shouted something that Dudley couldn’t hear.

Dudley gasped in a mouthful of ash as the floor dropped from under them and they went spinning through the dark, dirty chimneys of Britain. Just when Dudley thought he might be sick from the spinning, they stopped and stepped out of the fireplace (well, Dudley stumbled), and into a cavernous, crowded, noisy hall of people and fireplaces and green fire.

Dudley barely had time to think about how crazy he must be before Harry was dragging him off into the crowds.

“Stay close,” Harry said, quite unnecessarily. Dudley was not planning to stray any time soon.

“Harry! _Harry!_ ” Someone called over the noise, and Harry turned. A sandy-haired man was pushing through the crowds toward them. “Glad I caught you,” he panted. “Can we…?” And he nodded toward the wall. The three of them moved over to it and out of the river of people.

“Who’s this?” The man asked, glancing at Dudley.

“A relative,” Harry said quickly. “What’s going on, Seamus?”

Seamus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, travel-sized chessboard. “Still no luck,” he said. “Ryder thinks it might be Uncrackable. I’ve had it soaking in Essence of Murtlap for two days, and it hasn’t pulled anything out. Except…” Seamus paused purely for dramatic effect. “This.”

He turned the board over and pointed to one of the corners. Harry took it and squinted at it, Dudley leaning over to see, too. A tiny symbol was burned into the wood, barely distinct enough to make out, but it looked vaguely like a winding river.

“Rockman,” Harry said, looking up.

Seamus nodded. “I’m on my way to fill out the paperwork for the summons now. I thought you could go talk to our friend, though. Prime him a bit. Or I could go, if your relative…” he glanced at Dudley. “I just thought you’d be more effective.”

Harry looked at Dudley. “Your choice,” he said. “The most dangerous public place in wizarding Britain…or paperwork?”

The choice, for Dudley, was simple.

~~*~~

Dudley’s first impression of Knockturn Alley was not unlike the impression he had of the one-legged homeless beggar that sat at the corner of the street outside Dudley’s office building—the one whom he drove three blocks out of the way to avoid.

Knockturn Alley was much quieter than anything else he’d experienced in the magical world. There were a few people lurking in the shadows of the buildings (which were so grimy that no interior light shone through to the street), and even fewer people scurried about openly.

No one walked with pride.

The atmosphere was one of lacking—lacking life, lacking goodness. Even the air lacked a wholesome, filling quality, and Dudley had to breathe extra deeply to make up for it. The air smelled mildly like sulfur and burnt rubber.

Dudley did not like Knockturn Alley.

Dudley smiled to himself. He _knew_ he would not like Knockturn Alley. Dudley liked being right.

Without a word, Harry led the way down the street. Dudley had to jog to keep up.

They shortly came upon a shop that looked identical to all the other ones—the sign so worn down and illegible that Dudley wondered how Harry could read it. Or maybe Harry just came here so often he didn’t have to.

Dudley did not want to follow Harry inside this shop. But at the same time: he _so_ did. Being right was so very satisfying and reaffirming.

Dudley wasn’t sure what he was seeing inside the shop, the gadgets and powders and slimy jars and other strange items were as foreign as Tibet (which Dudley thought might be somewhere in Africa, but he wasn’t sure), but he knew it must not be good, the way Harry was glaring at everything. Personally, Dudley couldn’t see the difference between the jar of eyeballs on the shelf and the lizard tongues on Time’s supply list. Severed body parts were severed body parts.

“Morning, Rockman,” Harry said to the grisly man behind the counter. The man growled.

“Mr. Potter.” He glanced at Dudley. “New recruit?”

“Of a sort,” Harry replied curtly.

Rockman shifted nervously. “Arthur Weasley and his gang raided me last week. You won’t find nothin’ worth use to you here.” His speech was muddled through several missing teeth. Dudley felt slightly sick at the man’s lack of proper dental hygiene.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Harry said. He leaned forward. “Rockman, I thought we talked about smuggling contraband out of the country…I thought we agreed that you would quit that habit.”

“Yessir,” Rockman grumbled.

“So you want to explain this to me?” Harry pulled the chessboard out of his pocket. Dudley thought with satisfaction and reaffirmation that Harry was crazy. Chessboards could hardly be contraband.

“Games ain’t contraband, _sir_ ,” Rockwell replied with a sneer, and Dudley’s sense of satisfaction swelled. “That is, I _thought_ havin’ fun was still right with the law. But I’ve been havin’ a hard time tellin’ these days…”

“Oh, the game is legal, of course,” Harry said, ignoring the second half of the remark. “It’s the information stored in here that’s not. You _do_ know that withholding information on a wanted wizard can be grounds for imprisonment, don’t you Rockman?”

Rockman sniffed. “Don’t know whatcha mean…”

“Maybe this will help,” Harry said. He set the board on the counter and tapped it with his wand. A tiny drawer in the side sprang open; the chess pieces inside knocking against the wood with pleasant clacking sounds.

“It was quite a clever little puzzle,” Harry said, placing a few choice pieces on the board. “It took seven Decoders working on it until we figured out the pattern.” He held up the black queen and hesitated over a spot near the center of the board where she would checkmate the white king. “It was Melinda who figured out that you had to play the game to black’s victory. She’s a huge fan of Ron Weasley’s.” He gave a half smile. “I know you know what’s coming, and I’m sorry.”

Dudley swallowed nervously. _He_ didn’t know what was coming. Harry set the queen down with a gentle tap, and for a second, nothing happened. Then, the queen _moved_.

No; she stalked. She stalked toward the king, but the king remained stoic and calm, just like any king facing imminent death should. She reached the square in front of the king and halted.

And then, the pieces did something very strange. Dudley had never seen a moving chess set, but he was pretty sure that this was not usual. All of the pieces on the board (Dudley counted nine) threw back their heads and _wailed_. They screeched like nails on chalkboard; cried like a dozen starving babies. None of them shared the same cry: the horrible noises were completely out of sync and out of tune, so Dudley’s ears were assaulted nine times over instead of an agonizing once. He covered his ears, but it didn’t help. Rockman glanced at him with a sneer in his eyes that somehow never formed on his mouth, and Dudley thought it best for appearances that he lower his hands and take the screeching like a man. It hurt.

Harry let the wailing go its full duration (maybe a minute, but it felt much longer), until the queen lifted her thick arm and smashed it into the white king’s head. The noise stopped instantly, and the _tap, tap, roll_ of the stone-dead king echoed in the eerie shop.

Dudley held back a tremble.

“We’ve had in every expert linguist we could find,” Harry said. “It’s not a known language. Some of our Decoders have gone deaf trying to pick out a new code in it. Rockman, if you tell us what the message is, and it leads to the arrest of Laurence Knovell, the Ministry is prepared to grant a full pardon for your involvement in the transportation of this message. Think about it.”

Then Harry swept the chess pieces back into the drawer with one scoop, closed it, and put the board back in his pocket.

“I’ll be back in a few days with your official summons from the Ministry,” Harry said. “And because I’m a fair guy, I thought I’d warn you...” Harry lowered his voice calmly. “We’re watching you. Don’t try to leave the city, Rockman. Not until after this is sorted out. Nothing could be worse for you if we thought you might be hiding something worth attempting escape.”

Then Harry turned swiftly and strode toward the door, his robes billowing impressively as he went. Dudley was so caught up in the moment that he almost puffed himself up and said, “Yeah! We’re _watching_ you. Ha!” But one look at the scowl on Rockman’s face made Dudley’s words catch and gag in his throat, so he hastily followed Harry out the door instead.

They walked in silence for a few moments, Dudley still jogging to keep up. People pulled back into the shadows like rats in the night escaping a lantern when they saw Harry Potter coming. They scowled at him as if curses were thrown by eyes instead of wands, and Dudley felt quite uneasy about it. He wasn’t sure why: after all, they weren’t scowling at _him_.

“So where to now?” Dudley asked eventually.

“There’s someone else I need to talk to,” Harry said.

“In another sho—” Dudley started to ask, but was interrupted by a voice behind them.

“Potter!”

Harry whirled around so fast that Dudley almost ran into him; as it was, Harry’s robes swept around Dudley’s ankles like a passing breeze, and he shivered. To his surprise, Harry smiled. Not a friendly smile, but still, a smile.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry said. “I was just looking for you.”

Dudley turned and gaped. He had read about Malfoy, of course. He knew the family’s dark reputation and his conflict with Harry at school. He knew that Draco had tried to kill Harry’s mentor several times and that he bore the forbidden mark of the Dark Lord. He also knew that Harry had saved Draco’s life and that Harry testified on behalf of Draco’s mother for her crucial role in the downfall of Voldemort, releasing her and her family from some very serious charges indeed, and salvaging some of their torn reputation. It was because of Harry that the Malfoys walked free. This man owed Harry everything.

“I gathered,” Malfoy said coldly, holding up a piece of paper as he stopped several feet away from them. “A summons, Potter? Really?”

“It’s just routine, Malfoy,” Harry replied. “We need information.”

“And you think I have it?” Malfoy spat. Dudley was a little taken aback. Hadn’t Harry earned better respect?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry said coolly. Malfoy glared at him. “Your family knows an awful lot about dark enchantments and you have a lot to gain by associating yourself with Knovell.”

Malfoy’s pale face reddened with anger. “So that puts us automatically as the number one suspects?”

“Not at all,” Harry said. “It puts you on the list of people who might know something useful and are being called in for questioning. Stop victimizing yourself for a second and you might realize that.”

 _Ouch_ , Dudley thought, and Malfoy jerked as if Harry’s words were a spell that hit him. Rightly so: clearly the man needed a good talking to.

“It is getting old, Malfoy,” Harry continued. “Not many people like you, but most aren’t out to get you.” He glanced at the paper in Malfoy’s hand. “Just respond to the summons. Tell us what you know, and leave. That’s it.”

Malfoy drew himself together with the best sneer he could muster. “Is this why you were looking for me, Potter? A therapy session followed by a warning?”

“No,” Harry said. “I was looking for you to schedule a private meeting.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

Dudley briefly considered interjecting here: you don’t question someone with authority over you. When authority is earned, you give it completely. Or perhaps something had happened in the past 15 years—something to change the dynamic between them. It just didn’t make sense to Dudley.

“I think that’s best discussed somewhere that’s _not_ where anyone can hear.”

Malfoy glanced over at Dudley. “Like him? Who the hell _is_ he anyway, Potter?”

Harry hesitated only a split second. “My cousin.”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped slightly open. “Your _Muggle_ cousin? What the bloody hell are you _doing_ , bringing his kind here?”

Dudley’s stomach twisted uncomfortably in a knot and he completely forget about his previous thoughts for the moment. Malfoy was sounding oddly like Dudley’s father. And Dudley…well, he _didn’t like it_.

“His son’s a wizard, Malfoy,” Harry replied, and Dudley’s stomach twisted even tighter. “Why he’s here now is none of your business, but he has every right to be here.”

“No,” Malfoy said. “His son does, _maybe_ , but—”

“Drop it, Malfoy,” Harry said with a slight snarl.

“No, Potter, I won’t drop it! You have _always_ gotten away with doing anything you damn well please, just because you’re famous, but that doesn’t mean you’re always _right!_ It’s bad enough letting Mudbloods into our world; don’t you _dare_ bring your rotten Muggle family into it, too!”

“Hey!” Dudley cried; an anger he rarely experienced curdling in his stomach.

“Be quiet, Dudley!” Harry said sharply. “Leave this to me.”

“Yes, Dudley,” Malfoy echoed, “leave it to the ones with the _power_ here.”

“Malfoy,” Harry said warningly through clenched teeth. “Let. It. Go.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Potter.

“I know you’re not,” Harry said quietly. “And I don’t care. But there are more serious things at stake right now, Malfoy. Much more serious.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry in scrutiny. He glanced toward Dudley. And then suddenly, before Dudley even realized that Malfoy had pulled out his wand, a burst of light whooshed past his ear, precisely between Dudley and Harry. There was a _boom_ behind them, and as Dudley turned, he saw a man crash into the wall of a pub behind them and slump, unconscious.

Harry and Dudley glanced back at Malfoy, who was lowering his wand steadily.

“You should be more vigilant, Potter. That book has made you more enemies than usual.”

Harry looked at Malfoy in the eye and they stared for a second, and then gave a quick nod. Dudley frowned. This Malfoy fellow _confused_ him.

Malfoy took a deep breath. “Where and when are we having this meeting, Potter? I haven’t got all day to stand about here with you and your Muggle.”

“Here,” Harry said, and held up his wand. Dudley was completely mystified, but as though it were as normal a gesture as passing a piece of paper, Malfoy stretched out his own wand and touched the tip of it to Harry’s. There was a brief spark, and they dropped their wands.

“Might want to see to that fellow,” Malfoy nodded to Harry’s attacker. “He’s coming to…”

And Draco Malfoy turned and strode away without another word. Dudley noticed that he walked with pride.


	6. Chapter Six

Dudley liked ice cream. Harry probably knew that, which is likely why he took Dudley to Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor and bought him a strawberry ice cream cone. Harry spotted someone he knew then, and went off to talk with them, leaving Dudley to sit on a bench alone. He had assured Dudley that he’d be perfectly safe there, and though Dudley didn’t _quite_ believe him, he gradually began to relax in the sunshine with the familiar taste of cold, creamy strawberries on his tongue as he watched the Diagon Alley crowds go past and listened to their conversations. Dudley loved listening in on other people’s conversations.

A small screaming girl pointing at the ice cream parlor was being dragged along by her exasperated mother who was saying, “Oh stop fussing, Patti, you’ve already had two chocolate frogs today…”

Two teenage boys walked by talking about the outlook of the oncoming sports season.

Three teenage girls walked by talking about boys.

One old man hobbled by muttering something about youngsters (which Dudley was sure he would agree with, even if he didn’t know exactly what he said).

Dudley noticed that the kids seemed to be wearing normal clothing, and he wondered why that was. Harry always wore wizard clothing now, even though he grew up with normal-looking Muggle fashion. Dudley appreciated it, though, that the kids were still normal-looking. At least Time would still be wearing normal clothes for a while longer.

Dudley’s stomach gurgled in protest, and he thought that he might need to eat more ice cream to appease it. He took a large bite.

“For the last time, Virgil, we’re _not_ getting you a broom!” A tired father said as he ushered three boys along.

“Yeah, Virgil,” an older brother said, a bit tauntingly. “First years aren’t allowed their own broom. So unless you want to leave it behind and let Mum sweep with it…”

And he and the other brother laughed as the family walked away until their father chastised them. Dudley felt a little bit better. At least Time wouldn’t be on a broom anytime soon.

His stomach gurgled again and Dudley gave his ice cream cone a confused look. He took another large bite.

“I’ve heard that the new Potions Master is excellent,” a dignified-looking witch was saying to another dignified-looking witch. “Not that Horace wasn’t _quite_ in his element, of course.”

“Of course,” the second witch said. “But I am _ever_ so pleased that Minerva has chosen Martin Morn as Horace’s successor now that my Olivia has risen to O.W.L. level. I think he will be exactly the challenge she needs…”

Dudley couldn’t hear any more of the conversation after that, but he didn’t particularly need to. He was glad to know that Time would be appropriately challenged.

His stomach gurgled for a third time, and now Dudley didn’t quite think that the ice cream could help. He took a big bite anyway, but it still didn’t make him feel better. He decided he should stop caring about the quality of professors at Hogwarts. After all, he had already decided that Time wasn’t going.

“Hello.”

Dudley jumped and looked down. A little girl was sitting beside him. She had golden blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes, which reminded Dudley a little bit of May’s eyes. Dudley looked around, but could not see an obvious parent that she belonged to.

“Hello,” Dudley finally responded.

“What were you thinking about?” The girl asked.

Dudley blinked. What _was_ he thinking about? The girl had surprised him so much he’d have to backtrack to remember, but it turned out that he didn’t have to answer because the girl spoke again.

“I was thinking about daisies.”

“Mmm,” Dudley replied. What else could he say? _Me too?_ He _knew_ he hadn’t been thinking about that.

“And also rainbow ice cream. I think it tastes exactly like a rainbow probably really tastes, don’t you?”

“Mmm,” Dudley said again, though he actually really did agree. He had _always_ thought that rainbow ice cream tasted like real rainbows. How else would it have gotten the name?

“Well, see you later,” and she hopped off the bench and skipped off into the parlor, presumably to get rainbow ice cream.

Dudley turned back to watch the passersby. Now, what _had_ Dudley been thinking about? He took another bite of ice cream and mentally shook his head. It had been something important. Oh yes, his son.

Oh, yes. His son.

Dudley shifted uncomfortably on his bench. Time would love this place. So would May. Childish dreams come true, he knew. And when they became adults? Dudley glanced over at Harry, who was still chatting with his friend. They were both smiling. Dudley frowned. He was missing something. Beth would know what it was.

Beth would like it here, too. She would like all the colors and movement.

But his parents would _not_ like it here. Dudley felt sick again. That was perhaps the biggest problem of all. The danger, the weirdness of this world…Dudley thought (reluctantly) that he could probably get used to that, with Harry and the others there to look after Time. But his parents would never approve. No matter what they did…Dudley and Time would lose their love forever.

If it was because of something they did, Dudley could understand that. Love, after all, is earned. Dudley learned that from his parents. But Dudley could not see how it was anything that he or Time did could turn him into a wizard. They lived the most normal lives of anyone they knew. If _that_ didn’t stop wizardhood, then nothing could. It _must_ be a birth thing.

Dudley took another bite of ice cream and realized he’d reached the cone. He sighed.

Diagon Alley was bigger than Knockturn Alley. More people walked here, and almost everyone walked with pride. Or at least, they walked openly. That was very important to Dudley. People who did not walk openly had something to hide, which meant there was something _abnormal_ about them. His parents always walked openly in public, to give the appearance that nothing was different about them. That was very important to Dudley. Nobody lurked in the shadows here.

Dudley sighed. At least Time would learn to walk like his grandparents did.

Dudley finished the rest of his ice cream cone, thinking all the while. It made him very tired, but the ice cream helped.

Just as Dudley was finishing the last bite, Harry clasped the shoulder of his friend in farewell and returned to Dudley. Dudley wondered if Harry knew by magic that Dudley was finished or if it was just a lucky coincidence.

“Ready to move on, Big D?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Dudley said automatically, though he really wasn’t. He thought he might have reached some sort of conclusion to his very confusing thoughts, but he wasn’t sure what it was. No, actually, he didn’t like what it was and wished that his conclusions were different. But he couldn’t think about it anymore because he needed to concentrate on not losing Harry in the crowds.

“Harry,” Dudley said.

“Mm?” Harry replied without turning his head, lest he walk into someone.

“That Malfoy fellow…he doesn’t like you.”

Harry gave a short laugh. “Good observation.”

“But he just saved you from that man who tried to curse you.”

Harry slowed down a bit as he thought, so that Dudley could walk beside him and hear his lowered voice when he finally spoke. “Malfoy and I…we have an understanding. A mutual respect, of sorts, but it _definitely_ doesn’t make us friends.”

“But he owes you,” Dudley said. “He owes you respect and authority.”

“No,” Harry replied. “He might owe me respect, but he doesn’t owe me authority. I don’t even think I _want_ authority over him…We’re better off as separate as we can be…”

Dudley thought hard for a few more moments. Authority and respect are different? That didn’t fit with Dudley’s experience. Dudley’s father, his teachers at Smeltings, his boss at work…they all deserved both. Or perhaps they _demanded_ both. Could someone really give respect, but not authority? Or for that matter, authority without respect?

“Rockman…” Dudley eventually started, and Harry glanced at him. “You have authority over him…but he doesn’t like you, either…”

“Why would he? He used to be a Death Eater: one of Voldemort’s supporters. He can hardly feel warm toward the one who defeated his master. But he’s definitely afraid of me. Voldemort was supposed to be the most powerful wizard in the world…”

Dudley had to try hard to wrap his brain around the idea that authority and respect were two different things and he was quiet while he tried to figure this dilemma out.

They went into a dingy old pub where people craned their necks to look at Harry when they realized who had entered, and then they made their way down the hall to an empty parlor room where there was a fireplace that they took back to the Ministry of Magic.

There was a bit of trouble getting Dudley through the security check, since he had no wand to present for identification, but Harry Potter got him through and Dudley was made to wear a button that read: “Dudley Dursley: Befuddled Visitor.” Dudley was a bit too amazed at its accuracy to be upset, and after it was pinned to his robes (which Dudley had to admit were more comfortable than his own constricting suit and tie) he quickly forgot about it.

The rest of the morning was spent in the office, which Dudley hardly took note of because—except for the flying pieces of paper and other random magical oddities that he was growing accustomed to—the atmosphere was so much like his own workplace that Dudley found it rather unremarkable. He was mildly disappointed.

They had lunch with Hermione in a wizarding pub just down the street that Dudley hadn’t even noticed until Harry pulled him through the door. Dudley did not remember what they talked about because he was so tired of thinking and processing for the time being that he just stared off into space while Harry and Hermione discussed something serious that Dudley wouldn’t have understood anyway.

The rest of the day was likewise uneventful. There was some paperwork and a meeting or two, but no more excursions. At about 4:30, Harry said that they could leave a bit early since he needed to come in early the next day for the weekly debriefing, and Harry took him once again through the nauseating Floo Network back to the Potter house.

It was almost eerily quiet with the kids away and Harry and Dudley stood in the silence of the kitchen together for a minute. This was it, Dudley knew. He had to make a decision for good. He’d promised Harry: _If you can keep your world safe enough for my son…_ And now Harry was waiting for what Dudley thought of his day. He was out of time.

“So, Big D,” Harry finally said, ambling over to one of the kitchen chairs and sitting down. “Did you find what you wanted?”

Dudley was silent for a minute. “I don’t know,” he said eventually.

Harry sighed in exasperation. “What more do you need, Dudley? That was everything you ever need to know about our world…and you didn’t even need to know it!”

Dudley frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t need to know what our world is like to make the right decision. Think about it: how are _you_ going to change anything you saw today? How are you going to change the fact that your son’s a wizard and needs to be trained like one?”

Dudley bit his lip.

“You’re not,” Harry continued. “So why fight it?”

“Because he’s my _son!_ ” Dudley cried. “I don’t want to lose him!”

“How are you going to lose him?” Harry demanded. “How is it different from going off to Smelting’s—besides the fact that he’ll be learning charms and potions instead of physics and algebra?”

“Because Dad lost you!” Dudley said entirely without thinking.

“ _What?_ ” Harry asked.

“Yeah…” Dudley thought for a minute, because words that were previously subconscious need to be put into proper words in thought before spoken aloud. “You went off to Hogwarts…” he said. “And you came back with all this power…and it was never the same after that. Dad was afraid of you. You had the power over him. You didn’t love him anymore. It used to be—was _supposed_ to be—the other way around.”

Harry’s mouth opened and he stared at Dudley for a long time. Finally, he stood up. He frowned and said, “Big D, your dad never ‘lost’ me.”

Harry continued with a slight air of bewilderment: like Dudley should have known this all along (but how could he have? Dudley only knew what he knew). “He never ‘had’ me in the first place. He had power over me, yeah, when I was little. But going to Hogwarts…that didn’t change anything.”

Dudley stared at Harry. “It didn’t?”

“No,” Harry almost chuckled. “I just grew up. Honestly Dudley, would _you_ love someone who made you sleep under the stairs, who never gave you proper birthday or holidays presents, or proper-fitting _clothes_ , even; who never said ‘I love you’?”

Dudley swallowed. “He said you _wanted_ to sleep under the stairs… I thought you were really weird for it…”

“It never occurred to you I didn’t?”

“Well yeah, when I got older,” Dudley said. “It occurred to me, but I never thought that much about it since you had a proper bedroom by then. That should have counted for _something_.”

Harry gave a slight snort and shook his head. “That’s not how it works, Big D. You don’t ‘count things up.’ Your dad and I never loved each other, and that was it. Going to Hogwarts didn’t change that.” He paused. “But you and Time _do_ love each other. And going to Hogwarts won’t change that either.”

A lump rose unexpectedly in Dudley’s throat. He looked away. “But it’ll change with my parents…” he said quietly. “They’d never approve.”

“Do they have to?” Harry asked, and Dudley’s insides started to grow a bit hot with anger.

“Yes! I told you last night: what my parents think _matters_ to me. You really don’t get that, do you?”

“No!” Harry said, and Dudley could see anger heating his body, as well. “I don’t, Dudley. They’ve never really given me a _reason_ to care.”

Dudley crossed his arms. “Well they have _me_ , so this is a problem! If Time goes to Hogwarts, they won’t want him as their grandson, and me…well, I don’t know what they’d think of me. Sorry for me or angry with me or something else that I don’t want them feeling for me because all they should be feeling…” Dudley took a deep breath, “is happy. Or at least…” he shuffled his feet. “At least love.”

They were silent for a few more moments. Finally, Harry said, “I don’t know what to do, Dudley. They’re not my parents. I stopped caring how they might react the instant they couldn’t lock my stuff away from me anymore.”

Dudley glanced about the kitchen. A sponge was idly wiping at a spot on the counter. “Isn’t there…” Dudley couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Isn’t there some sort of… _something_ …you could do to them? To make them understand?”

Harry shook his head. “No. There are potions to help with states of mind: calmness, rationality, that sort of thing. But nothing for acceptance; and even if there were, it wears off after a few hours at best.”

“Well then…” Dudley glanced around wildly, as if it would help him think better. It must have worked because then…suddenly…an idea came to him. It was a bad idea, in the surely-this-goes-against-all-moral-law kind of way. But it just might work. And therefore, it was a good idea.

Dudley looked up at Harry. “Then make them forget.”

Harry stared at him. “What?”

“Take away their memories of magic,” Dudley said. “Then we _can’t_ tell them that Time is going to Hogwarts, or that he’s a wizard.”

Harry swallowed. “That’s _really_ illegal, Big D,” he said. “It’s against the law to perform magic on Muggles that isn’t strictly necessary. And I’m supposed to uphold the law…”

“They made Aunt Marge forget.”

“That was…” Harry shook his head. “Obliviators are allowed to do it to uphold the Statute of Secrecy. She didn’t need to know about magic.”

“Neither do my parents anymore,” Dudley said. “You’re out of the house. They don’t need to protect you anymore. The Statue of Secrecy must apply.”

Harry slowly walked over to the mantle and leaned against it. “Even if it did—which I’m not sure it would because they were so involved with my parents and me and everything; we might _need_ them to know about magic someday.” He paused. “Even if the Statute of Secrecy applied, I can’t just erase _some_ of it.” Harry glanced over at Dudley. “Hermione could do it…but I can’t work it like she can. I’d have to take away _all_ their memories of _everything_ relating to magic. And that means me…and my parents.” He paused. “Your mother wouldn’t know she had a sister. Think about it, Big D. That’s a hell of a lot to take away from someone.”

Dudley furrowed his brow. “Well… Can Hermione do it, then?”

Harry gave a short laugh. “Hermione? I’d be lucky if she didn’t arrest me herself…”

Dudley considered the situation for several moments. Finally, he said, “Then I want you to do it anyway. If that’s the way it has to be… I need to keep my family together. You and your parents are in the past; I need to make sure the future will be good, now. For all of us.”

Dudley paused, then added, “And also, you owe it to them.” Harry glared at Dudley for a second. “They kept you safe even though they didn’t want to. And now, you can make them the happiest people in the world by forgetting that magic exists—even though _you_ don’t want to. It’s an even trade.”

Harry gave a slight _hmpf_. “I don’t know about that…”

“Please, Harry,” Dudley said. “I need to keep my family together. Can’t you at least understand that much? Wouldn’t you do it for yours?”

Harry looked at Dudley hard for several moments. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I would.”

“So will you do it for mine?”

Harry stared at him an extra moment, and then looked down into the fireplace. “Yeah, Big D,” he said softly. “I will.”

~~*~~

Harry and Dudley met at the corner of Dudley’s street early Friday morning, before the rest of the family was stirring. Harry had insisted that Dudley sit on the decision for a few days, and Dudley refused to go magic-shopping until he felt sure that Harry’s end of the deal would be met. So they’d settled on Friday as the time to go to Privet Drive together.

They met so early because Dudley didn’t want to tell the rest of the family what they were doing until it was already done. Beth would have a conniption that she wasn’t in on this plan, but Dudley somehow felt that this was something that needed to be done just between him and Harry…and Hermione, apparently.

“She wants me to remind you that it’s illegal, and that if I ever get caught, she’ll make sure that you go down with me.”

Dudley swallowed. “What will they do to us?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “You’re a Muggle and I’m a beloved celebrity. We’re both safe.” He grinned slightly, though it was an empty humor and Dudley was not entirely convinced. Harry’s grin faded.

Then Harry held out his arm, which Dudley took, and they Disapparated.

When they reappeared, Dudley swayed woozily on the spot and gripped Harry’s arm for balance. He hadn’t done much side-along apparition, and that was a good thing. He hated the feeling.

He and Harry both glanced around at Privet Drive, and he knew that the wash of nostalgic emotions he was feeling at being back at his childhood home were a stark contrast to the ones that Harry must be feeling. It was hard to imagine not harboring anything but affection for this place, even under the nervous butterflies in Dudley’s stomach. It would be over quickly, though. He let go of Harry’s arm, and they walked toward the immortally-immaculate house at Number Four.

Though the sun itself was still only just waking up, Petunia and Vernon were bustling about inside—Dudley could smell the coffee from the front door. Dudley thought that if his parents suddenly moved, the house would be so used to the Dursley’s daily routine of the past 30-odd years that it would emit the smell of coffee at 6:18am even if none were brewing. He reached up, took a slightly nervous breath, and knocked.

They did not have to wait long for Petunia to answer the door. She gasped in delight when she saw Dudley and shrieked in horror when she saw Harry in such rapid succession that noise she made was more like a gargled yell (which might have made Dudley laugh if he were in the mood).

“Petunia?” Vernon’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood up and thumped toward the front door.

“Vernon! Oh, Vernon! He’s back! And he’s got Diddykins!”

“YOU!” Vernon yelled when he saw Harry, and Dudley thought that if they didn’t get inside soon, they’d wake up the whole neighborhood.

“Dad,” he said, pushing in past his mother, “it’s okay, we won’t be here long.”

“We?” Petunia asked. “Oh Dudley! What is he doing to you? Are the children alright?”

“Nothing, and they’re fine, Mum,” Dudley replied, as Harry stepped in and closed the door behind them.

“What do you want?” Vernon asked, staring at Harry with wide, suspicious eyes that completely failed to hide his terror.

“Let’s go into the living room,” Harry said quietly, glancing at Dudley. “We’ll have more room.”

“Room for what?” Vernon demanded. “More room for _what?_ ”

But Dudley was already ushering his mother into the living room, so Vernon had no choice but to follow. Dudley left his parents standing together in the middle of the room and went to join Harry, who was facing them, as still and calm as a statue.

“Dudders, you’re scaring us,” Petunia said. “Come over here with us…”

Dudley shook his head.

Vernon squinted his tiny eyes at Harry. “Tell us what’s going on,” he snarled. Dudley was impressed with how brave his father was managing to sound.

“Do it quickly,” he urged Harry. “Don’t drag it out.”

“Dudley wants me to erase your memories of magic,” Harry said. Vernon and Petunia’s mouths fell open. Dudley winced. Did he have to tell them that? Couldn’t he have just done it?

Harry continued, “He wants me to erase your knowledge of magic and replace the year you spent with Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle with false memories of an extended holiday abroad. He also wants me to completely erase your memories of me and my parents. And that of course means…” he looked directly at Petunia. “Your sister.”

Silence.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked; not, it was clear, because he was letting them have a say in the decision, but rather because he really wanted to know.

Petunia and Vernon looked at each other.

“It would all be gone?” Vernon asked. “That giant man with the pink umbrella, the pig tail, all the effing owls, that hellish year? You would make it go away?”

“Completely,” Harry replied.

Vernon narrowed his eyes. “By magic…:”

“Obviously,” Harry said.

“I won’t have it,” Vernon said. “You know very well I won’t allow any kind of… _that stuff_ in my house!”

“Petunia?” Harry turned to her, and Dudley was surprised to see her shrink back a little. He was even more surprised when she glanced at Dudley with a tear in her eye.

“Dudley…my darling boy…why?”

Dudley shifted. “I just…want you to be happy…” he muttered.

“But we _were_ , Diddykins. We left it all behind…What happ-…” Suddenly she stiffened and narrowed her eyes, glancing between Dudley and Harry.

 _Oh god_ , Dudley thought. _She knows_.

“Dudders…” Petunia’s bottom lip trembled. “Did _it_ come for Mortimer?”

Dudley steeled himself and slowly nodded. Petunia gasped and threw a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Dudley! Vernon!” And she turned and sobbed into Vernon’s shoulder, who was slowly but surely catching on. Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw Harry’s mouth twitch.

“Wait a minute—” Vernon said. “You don’t mean… _It_ …He can’t be a…” And his eyes widened in horror as Dudley nodded again. “ _My_ grandson…?” He let out a horrified, choked whimper and Dudley swallowed. He waited for the shouting. Beside him, he saw Harry slide his hand into the pocket of his robes and grip something tightly. They both waited for the tirade, the screams and shouts that would echo across the neighborhood about how he wouldn’t have one in his family, how it was abnormal, _wrong_.

They waited.

But Vernon did not shout. He blinked back tears, struggling to keep his reddening face straight as he processed the fact that one of his own flesh and blood could be so horribly mal-developed. He held the sobbing Petunia to him closely and glanced over at Harry, who had pulled his wand out and was holding it in full view at his side.

Vernon looked at Dudley. “You’ll tell me he goes to Smelting’s?”

“Y-yeah, Dad,” Dudley stammered.

“And that he gets good marks?”

“Top marks.”

“And that he’s involved in sports?”

“He’ll be a better wrestler than I was.”

Vernon glanced over at Harry, for perhaps the first time ever not with utter contempt.

“I’ll still know my own grandson, right?” he asked Harry quietly.

“If you can call it ‘knowing’,” Harry replied.

Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and said, “Then do it.”

“You’re a coward,” Harry said calmly.

Vernon’s faced turned redder, this time with anger. “Don’t you _dare_ call me that, Boy!”

“I’m just stating truth,” Harry said. “Your happiness over knowing your own grandson…Even _I_ never thought you were that low.”

“DON’T!” Vernon yelled suddenly, and Petunia had to cover her ears. “If you _must_ know, I’m doing this for him! I’m doing it because…” Vernon faltered, breathing heavily. “Because I know I can’t love him like I should, like I want to…unless I don’t know.”

“Then you can’t love him at all,” Harry replied. “If you have to forget the most important part of him to love him, that’s not love. That’s approval. I have nothing more to say to you.”

Vernon started to say something anyway, quite loudly, but Harry held a hand up with a look so fierce that even Dudley took a few steps away from him.

“Petunia?” Harry asked, and Petunia looked up. “Look, Dudley’s already decided and I’m just here to do this thing. So it doesn’t really matter what you say, but I just want to know…How does the fact that I’m about to erase your entire memory of having a sister make you feel?”

Petunia stared at him a long time. “I feel…” she eventually said, “sad. And hopeful. I loved my sister, even though I hated her. And…you have her eyes.” She paused. “I always hated that.”

“Do you want to forget?” Harry asked.

Petunia’s lip trembled. “I don’t know,” she said.

Harry glanced over at Dudley, who nodded. They’d be happier. That’s all he wanted for the parents who had made him so happy. They deserved it. Harry looked back over at Vernon and Petunia, holding each other tightly. He raised his wand and paused for several long moments, breathing steadily.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” he said.


	7. Chapter Seven

The door closed softly behind Dudley, Beth, and May. They looked at each other. Even the silence felt incomplete; like it needed a fourth silent person to be truly silent.

“Well,” Dudley said. “We’re home…”

“It’s quiet,” May said. “I miss Time already.”

“Me, too, sweetheart,” Beth said. She had already spent most of the car ride home weeping, and Dudley had thought that she must have no more tears left. However, a new tear formed and dripped onto her cheek. Dudley wiped it away with his thumb and then put an arm around her.

“Should I make us some tea?” he asked.

Beth and May agreed, and Dudley took them to the kitchen to put a kettle on the electric stove. May pulled out her box of crayons and some scrap paper to draw on while they waited for the water to heat up. Beth put some bread in the toaster and jam on the table.

Then Beth asked Dudley how work was going, and the Dursleys ended up having a very normal and quite lovely morning together. Vernon and Petunia called in the afternoon to see how Beth and Dudley were getting along with their firstborn out of the house and on his way to Smelting’s, and to say again just how much they _loved_ their grandchildren.

~~*~~

Harry and Dudley were having lunch one autumn afternoon at a café just down street from where Dudley worked. It was an occasional, non-formal, unspoken arrangement they had since their eldest children had left for Hogwarts, and this was their third such lunch. It was substantially, though not completely, less awkward than the first.

Dudley had finished most of his toasted ham and cheese sandwich and was contemplating starting on his chips when Harry suddenly changed the topic of Hermione’s latest work with house elves (during which he’d mumbled something about being asked to see if Dudley and Beth wanted to join S.P.E.U., or something like that, but Dudley had given Harry such a blank look that he dropped the subject almost immediately).

“So Big D…” (Dudley glanced up and frowned at Harry’s sudden hesitation) “…why _did_ you contact me after you read my book?”

Dudley dropped the chip he’d picked up. He blinked several times at Harry and then wiped his salty fingers on his paper napkin. “Er…” he said finally. But that was all he _could_ say. It was a question Dudley had asked himself many times, but had never been able to come up with an answer for. But now that he was under the pressure of Harry’s gaze, he felt like he needed to keep talking, just to say _something_.

“Well…I just felt… I just needed to is all…”

“Needed to?”

“Well I didn’t do it because I _wanted_ to!” Dudley said before he thought about it.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Thanks Dudley…”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Dudley said quickly, even though it kind of was. “It’s like… When Aunt Marge hands you money, you take it. When a guy takes a swing at you, you block it. You don’t think about it.”

“So it was instinct?” Harry frowned, and then got a sudden twinkle in his eye. “Sounds kind of like magic to me.”

Dudley’s eyes widened. “But I don’t have magic,” he said.

“Magic is everywhere, Big D.”

Dudley sat back and frowned. No, there must be a more logical explanation. “Maybe…” he finally said, quietly. He shifted his eyes around the small café before letting them focus on his plate of chips and sandwich crusts. “I started to see that you were like me. I mean not…we don’t have anything in common. I just mean. I just started to see that you’re more of a person than a w-wizard,” he whispered that last word in case anyone was eavesdropping.

Dudley paused and would not look up at Harry until he said what he needed to say. He took a deep breath. “And if that was true, then…I didn’t have to be afraid of you anymore.”

A charged silence followed. Finally, Harry said, “You spent all those years being afraid of me?”

Dudley shrugged, mildly embarrassed. “I tried not to think about it, honestly. But your book _made_ me think about it. And then…I guess I just had to know. That last time we saw each other, I told you that I didn’t hate you.” Dudley glanced up. “But you never said that you didn’t hate me back.”

Harry stared across the table at Dudley with his mouth slightly open, and Dudley squirmed.

Finally, Harry’s expression softened, and he leaned forward. “I don’t hate you, Dudley.”

Dudley nodded quickly, a little awkwardly, and smiled, also awkwardly. He knew that now, of course. But it felt oddly nice to hear it. It was the nicest sentiment Harry had ever given him, and it made him feel…approved. Respected. And Dudley always liked that feeling.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I don’t hate you, either.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I know, Big D.”

Dudley’s mouth twitched, too, and he picked up a chip again and bit into it. They were quiet for a minute, and then Dudley said,

“I got an owl from Time the other day. He got an O on his first potions essay. I don’t know if that’s a good thing…but he sounded excited.”

Harry smiled. “It’s a very good thing. Tell him congratulations from me.”

“I will,” Dudley nodded. He took a sip of his Pepsi. He and Harry both shifted in their seats. “So what’s this about house elves again?”

And then Harry explained the situation with house elves to Dudley, who took more interest in it than usual, and since he thought that Beth might also take interest, he signed them up for S.P.E.W., which Harry said would make Hermione very happy.

When they finished lunch, Dudley went back to his office while Harry Disapparated back to _his_ office; and when Dudley caught sight of an owl gliding quickly past his window, he gave a small smile.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Thank you all who followed this story and reviewed (and thank you to those who _will_ review). I have loved writing this story, and for readers as fabulous as you all, it was completely worth it.
> 
> I am planning a sequel to follow the kids at Hogwarts. And by "the kids," I mean mostly Lyra, Rosie, and a few others her age. Put me on alert if you're interested.
> 
> EDIT: As of the end of 2016, when I decided to re-read and slightly edit this story, I am _still_ working on the sequel. Most of my writing efforts have been in the _Blood and Time_ series, but this sequel has always been at the back of my mind and recently I've been inspired to drag it to the front again. I've got the beginning and the end all planned; it's just the pesky middle that needs some help. I love it through and through, however, and it is not abandoned, even though now it's wholly AU with the release of Cursed Child (instead of the mild EWE AU it was before)...


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